Monsters (revised)
by Sylarfan
Summary: After witnessing the possession and exorcism of her neighbor, Amber becomes involved in an ongoing liaison with Sam. She soon realizes that sometimes, the ones you think you can trust, can become the biggest monsters.
1. Deceptions

For those very few who were following this story, I decided to revise this into a more fleshed out story. The original two chapters will be in this version, but they will be slightly reworked to fit the full version of the story. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 1:**

**Deceptions**

Sam and Dean walked onto the crime scene dressed in their best cheap suits with their fake IDs in their pockets, ready to present them to the first police officer or detective to question their presence. Which didn't take long.

"Good afternoon," Dean said as the officer approached them. "I'm special Agent Hicks and this is my partner, Agent Ripley." They both flipped open their identification.

"Officer Wittman," she said, glancing at their badges without much focus.

"We understand that Richard Tess was abducted and tortured by a man he claims was some sort of demon?" Dean went on trying to appear skeptical.

"Yep," Officer Wittman said, "Lemme guess, you're here because you think this is in connection with Ted Lasater, that looney that claimed a demon made him do it?"

"That's right," Dean confirmed.

The officer waved them on to follow her. She was short with a sturdy frame, her auburn hair pulled up into a tight bun. "Richard Tess managed to break free and kill his abductor, Myron Grayer. Tess says he saw…" she paused, her light brown eyes squinting in the afternoon sun, "some kind of black mist or some such nonsense, come out of Grayer's mouth after he stabbed him. It's probably better if you hear it from him, though I suggest you wait until he's had a few days to recover. He was taken to Sommers Lake Hospital. But I imagine you want to take a look at the crime scene."

She escorted them through the small crowd of officers and photographers. She lifted the yellow tape which Sam still had to duck under significantly. Inside Grayer's garage, his body was still sprawled out on the ground, eyes wide open and unseeing, blood congealed around him with a gaping wound in his chest. A piece of a broken dowel stained in blood, possibly from a broom or rake, lay on the ground where it had rolled several feet away.

Dean turned to Sam. "You smell that?"

"Sulfur," Sam replied, as he squatted down and dragged his fingers through the mustard colored powder near Myron Grayer's body.

"I don't get it," Dean puzzled, "Why abandon the vessel? He went through all that trouble to abduct this guy, torture him and the second he gets stabbed, he just flies out of there like a bat out of hell?" Dean waved his hand around for dramatics. "Why not stay in control of the meat suit and finish the job?"

"I don't know," Sam said.

They continued their search around the garage, taking notes. It was mostly for show, staying in character for the other officers. They had the evidence they needed to give them reason to continue on with their investigation.

With that, they wasted no time making their way to the hospital to question Richard Tess. When they arrived, they put on their usual FBI performance and were taken to Tess's room.

He looked like he'd been through hell. He was a middle-aged man, from what they could tell. The left side of his head was shaved with about a dozen stitches. The right side of his face was bruised and swollen with a few small stitches at the corner of his eye and his left leg was in a cast from the knee down. And that was only what they could see of him, it was safe to assume he had sustained more injuries.

"Mr. Tess, sorry to disturb you. I'm Special Agent Ripley, this is Special Agent Hicks, we're with the FBI." Sam didn't bother showing his ID, he had a feeling he'd be taken on his word. "We'd like to ask you about your abduction."

To the brothers' surprise, Richard jumped right into details. Usually people hated repeating their story over and over and were reluctant to tell the truth about the more unusual parts.

"Well, I knew Myron, not well, but he was a frequent costumer at the hardware store I own. He was shopping as usual, having some wood cut for a patio project he was planning. I helped him out to his truck when he attacked me. Hit me right over the head with one of the two by fours."

"Did you have a disagreement or did he have grudge against you?" Dean asked.

"No, but even if he had, did I deserve all this?"

"Of course not, I'm just trying to figure out what his motive would have been."

"He was a demon, Agent Hicks, he didn't need a motive."

"A demon?" Sam questioned. "Why would you say he was a demon?"

"When I came to, he had me tied to the support post in his garage. Before he started beating me with his fists, his eyes turned black as tar. His hand went bloody after a few good licks and he walked off to get a rag to wrap his knuckles with. By some miracle, I managed to work the rope loose enough to pull my hands through."

"That does sound like a miracle," Dean mumbled to his brother.

Richard continued, "I grabbed a broom in the corner and cracked it across the post to break it in two. He came back at me and I stabbed him straight through the chest with the broken handle. As he fell to his knees, this black cloudy mist came gushing out of his mouth and disappeared out of a busted window in the garage door. I knew what it was, Agents, it was pure evil."

The brothers made their way back to the parking lot. "Did his story give you the creeps?" Dean asked as he climbed behind the wheel of the Impala.

"No, we've seen it all before, Dean. Why would it creep you out?"

"I don't know, just something about the way he told it." Dean shuttered as the engine roared to life. "I need a drink. How about you?"

"Drop me off at the hotel, you go ahead. I want to get started on researching this Myron Grayer, see if he's connected in any way to Ted Lasater."

"Fine, but wouldn't you rather do it on a full stomach? It's still early."

Sam checked his watch, it was six-thirty. His stomach gave a growl, he could definitely go for something to eat.

"Okay, but only for an hour or so, I don't want to be out all night."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Dean smirked.

Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a little Irish pub with the name "O'Leary's" illuminated in gold and green neon lights.

"A Guinness and some bangers and mash sounds good right about now," Dean said opening his door.

Sam followed him in without comment.

* * *

Amber and her date opted to sit at the bar rather than waiting for a table. They weren't eating much anyway, just a plate of appetizers.

She had met David a party the weekend before, where they seemed to hit it off, but now she couldn't say the same. He was mildly amusing, nothing to get excited about. He was kind of cute with his blond hair surfer look, even though they lived in the middle of damn country, but the conversation was forced and she didn't feel much of a spark when he had kissed her. She knew after tonight she wouldn't want to see him again.

As she took a bite of a stuffed mushroom, her phone gave an alert. She wiped her fingers off on the cloth napkin and pulled it out of her purse. It was Kelly, her fellow server from the 24-7 Diner they worked at. She asked her how her date was going. It was typical of her to be nosy and pushy. It usually grated on Amber nerves, however at the moment, she welcomed the excuse to take a break from trying to think of something interesting to say.

"I'm sorry, David, do you mind if I respond to this? It will only take a minute."

"No, go ahead," he said.

She swiveled her chair around facing the open restaurant, her back to the bar. She crossed her legs and tugged down the hem of her short A-line skirt to keep it from hiking to far up her thigh.

Kelly's text read, {How's the date going? You getting lucky tonight?}

Amber rolled her eyes. Kelly was the queen of inappropriate questions. {Let's just say he's no Prince Charming, but he gets cuter the more martini's I drink. I'm still contemplating.} She responded, adding a winky face.

Eyes still on her phone, she blindly reached behind her and picked up her drink. She was suddenly halted by a towering man wedging himself between her and David.

"Don't drink that," he said and plucked the martini glass from her hand.

She turned and glanced up, taking in how incredibly tall he was, at least six-four, she thought. "What? Why?"

"Because he just slipped something in your drink," he bluntly disclosed.

"What?" She leaned around the large man and shot David a questioning look that demanded an explanation.

"Hey, man, I didn't slip her any roofie!" David said in defense as he stood up from his stool.

The imposing stranger turned to David, straightening his posture to his full height. Amber wasn't sure if this was purposely meant to be a threating move or if he was just using his intimidating size to avoid a fight.

"I sat right there and watched you put something in her drink when she had her back turned," he said.

David's eyes sized up his would-be opponent and backed down. He gathered his wallet and keys and left without a word.

The unknown gentleman turned back to Amber, his expression soft and amiable. He slid her drink away. "Always order your own drink and never turn your back on it." This was advice she had already known, but clearly failed to follow. "Be careful. There are monsters out there," he concluded and walked back to his high-top table where another man sat drinking a beer.

She busied herself with paying the tab, trying to extinguish the burn of her embarrassment. David had made a fool out of her. _What a slime, _she thought. She wished the tall man had beaten him within an inch of his life so he'd never consider pulling that move on anyone else.

* * *

Sam watched Amber scurry around, preparing to leave. During his years working in the family business, he had gained enough experience reading people to know she was deeply unnerved by what had just happened. The breezy confidence she emitted earlier in the evening had fizzled away.

She pulled her long, highlighted hair into a quick pony tail, hiked her purse onto her shoulder and tried to slip away unnoticed. Sam got to his feet and began to step out from behind their table.

"I'll be right back," he said to Dean.

He followed Amber out, just keeping her in his sight to make sure that creep she was with earlier wasn't hiding in shadows, waiting to pounce. She got in her car and drove off with no one on her tail.

Convinced he truly did scare off the predator, he went back inside to find his food waiting for him and Dean already diving into his own meal.

"You get her number?" Dean asked with a mouth full of banger sausage.

Sam grimaced.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I just wanted to make sure that creep wasn't out there trying to stalk her or something."

"I'm just saying, you played the hero card, plus, she was kind of hot," he said taking a healthy pull from his glass of Guinness.

Sam's expression became more disapproving as the conversation went on. "The last thing she needs right now is another guy trying to hit on her. And for the record, I was not _playing the hero card_. He was committing a crime and planning to commit another."

Dean looked over at Sam's light beer and grilled chicken salad. "Whatever, Mr. Chivalry. Just eat your little girly meal so we can get back to work."

"Since when are you in a hurry to do research?"

"Hey, I can be committed."

Sam let out a huffed laugh with a shake of his head and started in on his girly meal.


	2. Witness

**Chapter 2:**

**Witness **

Amber tucked a bottle of laundry detergent and a box of dryer sheets into a heaping basket of dirty clothes. She slipped on her cheap drug store flip-flops and headed out for the apartment laundry facility.

As she descended the last set of stairs on the basement level, she heard a man speaking in a panicked voice. Balancing the basket on her hip with one arm, she peered around the door frame, not wanting to interrupt a possible confrontation. It was her next-door neighbor, Allen. He had no phone in his hand and he faced a seemingly empty corner.

The laundry room was rather small, with three washers and four dryers, a small bench and a counter for folding clothes in the center of the room. A small rectangular window sat near the ceiling that looked out level with the ground. There, in the corner near the window, was a black cloud hovering and swirling.

"P-pp-please! Leave me alone!" Allen stammered as he spoke to it.

She inched into the room. One of the fluorescent lights flickered like a strobe and there was a distinctive smell, like someone had lit a book of matches.

"Allen, what is that?" She asked as she sat her basket on top of a washing machine.

"It's come for me," he stated in an eerily calm voice.

"What's come for you?"

The black swarm moved like a twist of wind, whipping up a gust around the room. It surged at Allen as he screamed and the swarm rushed into his open mouth with such a force, it knocked him back several feet, hitting the wall behind him. It disappeared somewhere deep inside his belly. He slid down the wall and his body slumped over to the side.

"What the fuck," Amber whispered to herself. Her eyes moved from Allen to the exit, then back to Allen, debating with herself whether to flee or check to see if he was alive. She cautiously stepped towards him.

She touched his shoulder, "Allen? Allen?"

She could see his chest moving as he breathed, so she knew he wasn't dead. She gave him a gentle shake, "Allen, are you okay?"

He pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"Allen, can you hear me? What was that?"

His eyes flew open, looking like polished onyx. Amber fell backwards, catching herself on her hands. "Allen," she whispered as her heart hammered in her chest.

He blinked and his eyes were back to their normal dull blue. He rose up to his feet; she mirrored his action.

"Are you okay?" She asked him.

"Never better," he said with a smile as he turned and walked out, leaving all of his belongings behind.

Amber stood in motionless silence for a few minutes, questioning her own sanity at what she just saw, or what she thought she saw. She scooped up her basket making the decision to go to the laundromat in the shopping center down street.

* * *

Sam sat at the small round table in the hotel room focused on his laptop while Dean sat across from him cleaning a few guns and loading magazines.

"So, just as I thought, Myron Grayer and Ted Lasater did know each other," Sam said. "Listen to this…twenty-five years ago, they were friends in high school. It sounds like they got mixed up in some kind of satanic cult. The two of them, along with two other friends, Allen Chalke and Simon Leal, were arrested for petty theft, vandalization and animal cruelty."

"What's the deal with animal cruelty and satanic cults?" Dean commented.

"It says they were thought to be preforming satanic rituals."

"Oh, well, that makes it alright, then," Dean mocked.

"They were all tried as adults but got off pretty light. They've mostly stayed out of trouble since then, with the exception of a few minor arrests and misdemeanors.

"Of course, as we already know, Ted Lasater was recently arrested for murder, but at the time of the arrest he was emotionally unstable and kept screaming about how he was possessed by some evil entity. It looks like he's currently being held in the state penitentiary undergoing psychiatric evaluation. Whatever these guys did that day, they're paying for it now."

Dean listened intently, setting down his favorite pistol, its shiny steel flashed as it caught the light from the overhead lamp. "So, this demon…you think it's jumping from one of these guys to the other, possessing them one by one?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sam contemplated, "It would explain why the demon fled it's chosen vessel after Richard Tess stabbed him. Tess wasn't his true target; it was Myron Grayer."

"You wanna try and question this Lasater guy?"

"No," Sam responded. "I don't think we have time. It looks like Simon Leal moved to Florida years ago, but Allen Chalke, he doesn't live far from here. I say we find him before the demon does and find out what they did twenty-five years ago."

* * *

Amber pulled into the parking garage of her apartment building around three in the afternoon, glad to finally be done with laundry for the week. She climbed out of her little light blue, two door hunk of junk and walked around to the passenger side door. As she lifted her laundry basket of now clean and folded clothes, she heard a couple arguing. She turned toward the raised voices to discover her neighbor, Allen, again. This time he was arguing with an actual solid person; his wife, Claudia. She only caught pieces of words here and there. She was about to look away and mind her own business when Allen slapped his wife in the face. Claudia stumbled sideways, catching herself on the car parked next to them.

Amber had lived next door to the Chalke's for over a year and had never once heard him so much as raise his voice at Claudia. She didn't know them well, but they seemed like a happy couple. Then it got worse.

Allen grabbed Claudia by her hair and shoved her to the ground. Claudia caught herself on her hands, scraping her knees in the process. When she got to her feet, blood was trickling down her left shin. She took off toward the building in tears.

Amber squatted down beside her car, hiding behind the still open passenger door, hoping Allen hadn't seen her. She heard a car door slam and then the echo of screeching tires as he drove off.

Contemplating calling the police, she stayed in the comfort of her hiding spot for a few minutes. She decided it was probably best not to get involved. She didn't know them well enough to get caught in the middle of their domestic problems. Amber hoped Claudia would make the call.

She picked up her laundry basket from the ground where she had sat it during her pathetic act of cowardness and locked up her car. She marched across the parking garage, struggled with the large glass door and climbed her way up the stairs.

Half way up to the third floor where she lived, she came face to face with Claudia, who was on her way down with a small suitcase in tow and a large tote bag hanging on one arm. They both stopped and stared at one another in silence.

The left side of Claudia's face was a deep red, beginning to bruise. Her copper colored hair was haphazardly thrown into a ponytail with fly away strands falling around her face. Her eyes were bloodshot with mascara smeared in streaks down her cheeks, her nose red and lips swollen from a bout of heavy crying.

No words were exchanged between them as Amber moved aside and let Claudia continue down the stairs. Amber opened her mouth wanting to say something, but what? Apologize for not coming to her aid? To offer her comfort or help? Then the sound of the heavy door to the parking garage closing came gushing up the stairs.

Amber carried her laundry to her bedroom, setting the basket on the bed and slumped down next to it. A low rumble of thunder gently rattled the windowpane. She let out a heavy sigh as she fell back with her arms stretched over her head, letting herself sink into the comfort of her mattress. She closed her eyes as the sound of the downpouring rain lulled her to sleep.

* * *

A heavy thumping sound roused Amber from her slumber. The walls a dull grey from the darkened clouds outside and the sound of the rain was still steadily tapping on the window ledge. The heavy pounding began again. Someone was knocking at her door.

She shuffled towards the door but stopped before answering it, wondering if it might be Allen. She was certain Claudia knew she had witnessed their unfortunate encounter, maybe Allen knew too. She tip-toed to the door and peered out of the peephole.

Two men in business suits stood outside. One had short cropped hair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The other had longer hair, his hands in his pockets staring down at the floor. She assumed they were salesmen or some bible thumpers trying to deliver the word of God. She backed away as quietly as possible, wanting to maintain the illusion that no one was home. Then a rich, baritone voice spoke through the door.

"We know you're home, we saw your shadow flicker the light coming through the peephole. We're FBI, we need to ask you a few questions about your neighbor, Allen Chalke."

Her heart sank. The fact that they knew she was there was alarming enough, now they were bringing Allen's name into it. It was suddenly hard to swallow. What was she so worried about? She hadn't done anything. Maybe that was why she felt so guilty, because she didn't do anything at all, when she probably should have.

"You're not in any kind of trouble, we only want to ask you a few questions." This voice was smooth and calming, almost familiar.

She opened the door. The three of them studied each other briefly before recognition set in.

"Hey, you're roofie girl," the man with the short hair blurted out with a grin.

The tall man gave him a chastising expression. "You'll have to excuse my partner; tact has never been his strong suit. We…never did exchange names the other night at O'Leary's," He held out his hand for a formal introduction. "I'm Agent Sam Ripley and this is my cordial partner, Agent Dean Hicks."

"Amber Hollister," she said shaking each of their hands in turn.

"May we come in?" Sam asked.

She stepped to the side and held the door open, "Y-yes, I'm sorry, of course."

"Thank you, Ms. Hollister. I know this must be awkward for you considering what happened the other night, but I assure you, this is completely coincidental." Sam explained.

"So, you guys are FBI?"

"That's right," Sam reached into his blazer pocket, retrieving his badge. Dean did the same.

Amber observed them closely as they tucked their badges back inside their blazer pockets. They were quite the contrasting pair. The one physical trait they both seemed to share was a cleft chin, but the similarities stopped there.

Agent Hicks was a beautiful man, there was no other word to describe him. His face was almost perfectly symmetrical; it was hard to find a flaw. Striking jade green eyes and close-cropped hair, styled with care. His nose was well proportioned to his face with full lips and a smooth jawline. He carried himself with bold confidence and spoke with an air of authority.

While Hicks was taller than some, Agent Ripley was taller than most. His hair was much longer, not quite reaching his shoulders, loose and flowing. He was handsome as well, but his features were more prominent; stronger jaw line, forehead and nose. His narrow-shaped eyes were hazel, changing color in the light under a heavy brow. He had a genuine smile and his body language was open and welcoming.

The pair of them made her feel self-conscious. She pulled her unwashed hair over her shoulder, teasing it with her finger tips. She probably hadn't even brushed it today, not to mention she had on zero make up. Dressed in navy blue sweat pants and a lilac baby-doll tee with the word "beautiful" written in glittery cursive with a colorful sparkly butterfly at the end of the "l". Then to add even more class to her current appearance, she had an old coffee stain on her left boob.

She tried to reason with herself by thinking they probably catch people at their worst most of the time. At this point, the awkward silence had gone on way too long.

"You can have a seat in here, if you want." She said guiding them over to the open space that was the living room/dinning room combo.

"Uh, would you like some coffee?" she asked them.

"I'd love some," Dean said with a charming smile as he sat down on the couch.

"Thanks, but I'm okay," Sam replied, he took a seat next to Dean on the opposite end.

"Do you want cream or sugar?"

"No, just black."

Sam cleared his throat before he began, "Ms. Hollister, how long have you lived next door to Allen Chalke?"

"You can call me Amber," she said from the kitchen. "I've lived next door to Allen for about a year and a half."

"How well would you say you know him?" he asked as she entered the living room with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Dean.

He took it with a nod. "Thanks," he said.

Amber sat down on the large cushioned chair adjacent to the couch. She took a sip from her mug. "Not real well. I took care of their plants and fish a couple of times while he and his wife were out of town."

"Did you notice anything strange about him or his apartment?" Dean pipped in.

"No," she puzzled.

"Did you see anything that might indicate satanic worship or witchcraft?" Dean asked.

"I mean, nothing laying right out in the open. I didn't go snooping through their closets and drawers."

"No, of course you wouldn't," Sam interrupted. "We're just wondered if you ever noticed anything…a little out of the ordinary or if anything about him seemed, off-putting."

"No, honestly, he's a nice man. He and his wife are both nice. I mean, she gave me a ride to work on a few occasions when my car was in the shop and she even brought me a little tin of Christmas cookies last year. That's why it was so hard to believe what I saw."

"What did you see?" Dean sat up straight as a board.

Amber was worried she'd said more than she should have. She didn't want to get involved, but now she felt cornered. These guys were FBI, surely they'd know if she was lying.

"I saw him hit her and shove her to the ground in the parking garage just a couple of hours ago."

"This was out of character for him?" Sam asked.

"Yes, very. At least, not that I've ever seen or heard."

"Is there anything else?" he continued to pry.

Amber's thoughts went back to the laundry facility in the basement. Not knowing how to explain that situation, she decided to try to leave out the more insane details.

"Well, a few days ago, the morning after the pub thing," her cheeks went warm with embarrassment, "I went to the basement to do laundry and he was there. He was acting really weird."

"Weird how?"

She hesitated, "He, uh, he was alone and talking to himself, but not just rattling off thoughts like you do, he was…pleading, asking to be left alone. He seemed pretty freaked out."

"Did you see anything else?"

"No, I told you, he was talking to no one."

"How about bad smells?" Dean asked.

"Bad smells?"

"Yeah, like sulfur or bad eggs?"

Her eyes went wide in consternation. How could he have known that? Amber's words were stuck in her throat. She didn't know what else to say without sounding completely off her rocker.

She must have sat too long in thought because Sam startled her when he spoke, "Amber, I know something scared you down there. What did you see?"

His hazel eyes were locked on hers, kind and sincere. "I saw…this is going to sound crazy, but I saw a black cloud or like a mist."

They didn't interrupt her or react at all, they simply waiting for her to continue, so she did. "I asked Allen what was wrong and he said that it had come for him."

"Come for him?" Dean asked.

Sam pulled a note pad and pen from his inside pocket and began jotting down notes.

"Yes. Then it flew at him. It…flew into his mouth."

No one said anything for a few seconds, then the agents exchanged looks. Amber's anxiety came rushing back.

"I know it sounds crazy and you probably don't believe me, but that's what I saw."

"No, we believe you," Dean said.

"You do?"

"Yes, we do," Sam added. "What happened to Allen after that?"

"Well, his eyes looked…solid black for a few seconds, but then they didn't. I asked him if he was alright and he said, 'Never better' and then left."

"And this happened before you witnessed the domestic violence in the parking garage?" Sam asked.

"Yes," she answered as he continued to scribble away on his notepad.

"Do you know where Allen might be now?"

"No."

"Is there anything else that you think might be important?"

"No, that's all."

"Okay, well, if you think of anything else or know where we can find him, give us a call." Sam handed her a business card with his and Dean's alias names and their cell phones numbers.

Sam tucked his notepad away and they both stood and headed toward the door.

"What kind of trouble is Allen in that has the FBI looking for him?" She asked.

"I'm afraid we can't answer that," Dean answered. "But please call us if you see or hear anything else."


	3. Taken

**Chapter 3: **

**Taken**

The aroma of buffalo sauce wafted from the serving window. Amber's tummy rumbled. It had been five hours since her break on her ten-hour shift, she looked forward to going home.

She gathered the plates and headed towards her table of rowdy patrons. Four young men, no doubt fresh from the dance club a couple of blocks over. Bar hoppers typically stumbled in around 1am on a Sunday morning.

She handed out the plates of burgers, hot wings and chili fries. The inebriated comrades were so engrossed with their humorous conversation that they paid her no mind. Not a thank you or a smile, not even a wink. She knew they weren't going to tip well. It was better than being eye fucked and spoken to in numerous demeaning ways, but at least that usually resulted in a large tip.

Her customers left at a quarter to two; right on time for another group of partiers to lumber in. She was happy to be handing them off to her relieving shift.

"Great, this looks like a fun bunch," Mitch said as he tied his serving apron around his waist.

"Just smile and shake that cute little tushy, those ladies will love you," Amber punched him lovingly in the shoulder.

"Ah, no, that only works for you."

"Not tonight it didn't."

She leaned around the corner of the kitchen, "Hey, Maurice," she hailed the night lead chef.

"Hey shorty. You need something?"

"Can you whip me up a batch of buffalo wings? Please."

"Sure thing, baby girl. You want those battered or naked?" he winked.

"Battered, please."

"You got it."

She gathered her things from her cubby in the breakroom, mentally planning her evening. While most of the world would be sleeping all snug in their beds, she would be eating her dinner, drinking a few beers and catching up on her DVRed shows.

She swung by the kitchen and picked her to-go box of wings; her name scrawled across the top in sharpie.

"Thanks, Maurice!"

"You're welcome, baby girl. You enjoy your next two days off."

"Oh, I plan to."

"You take care ah you."

"I will. Have a good night!" she waved prancing out the door.

The drive home was peaceful, barley a soul on the road. She turned off the radio to listen to the hum of the wheels. Her headlights illuminating the white and yellow lines against the asphalt.

She pulled into her designated parking spot in the apartment building garage. Climbing out of her car, she noticed Allen's black Subaru Outback. It hadn't been there since his incident with Claudia. Those FBI guys wanted her to call them if she found out any new information. This was indeed new info.

She sat back down in the driver's seat and searched around in her purse for the business card Agent Ripley had given her the day before. Her phone woke to her touch, bringing the time to her attention: 2:17am. With a heavy sigh she dropped her phone into the console between the bucket seats, thinking it was probably best to wait until normal morning hours to call. Stuffing the card in her back pocket, she grabbed her dinner and looped her purse strap around her shoulder as she stepped out of her car. The chirp of her remote lock echoed around the garage. She ambled toward the building, then up the switchback staircase that lead to her third-floor apartment.

Each landing had three apartments nestled on them. Amber's was the apartment in the middle, facing the staircase. Allen's was the first on the right as you came up the stairs and the other was across the hall from Allen at the beginning of the next flight up. As she neared the top of the landing, she heard muffled voices coming from Allen's apartment. She slowed her stride, hovering for a few moments just outside his door. Shrugging, unable to determine if it was actual people or just the television, she shuffled along unlocking her own door.

She kicked her shoes off by the door and rounded the corner toward the kitchen, dropping her purse on the small round dinette table. Setting her food on the counter, Amber pulled a cold beer from the fridge, plucked the bottle opener magnet off the front of the fridge and pried open the bottle; take a generous swig. A spray of liquid burst out of the bottle as she lowered it from her lips, dribbling some onto her shirt. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to wipe the droplets off her shirt, but all it did was rub it in.

"Fuck it," she said to herself.

She tucked a roll of paper towels under her arm, gathered up her box of wings and her beer and meandered to the living room. Placing everything on the coffee table, Amber picked up the remote, ready to choose a show from her DVR list. But before she could press the power button, she heard a deep yell and a heavy thud come from Allen's apartment. Slowly stepping towards the adjoining wall and leaning close to listen. Something heavy was being dragged across the floor.

Deciding this probably shouldn't wait until normal morning hours, she took another guzzle from her beer and pulled the business card out of her back pocket.

"Shit," she said, realizing she left her phone in the car.

Fishing her keys from her purse and stepping into the landing hallway; her socked feet made no sound as she tip-toed back down the stairs to the garage. Trotting toward her car she pressed the button on the key-fob, causing another ear-piercing chirp.

Sitting in the front seat, she studied the business card. Dean's name was listed first. Considering his assertive demeanor, Amber figured he might not respond well to being woken up at two-thirty in the morning. She dialed Sam's number instead.

It rang four times before his voicemail kicked in.

"Hello, you have reached Special Agent Samuel Ripely," his smooth voice played through her phone, "I'm unable to receive your call at this time, please leave me your name, number and a detailed message and I will return your call as soon as possible." A beep followed.

Hoping she wasn't jumping to conclusions and bothering this man at an unreasonable hour, she began her unrehearsed spiel.

"Hi, Agent Ripley. This is Amber Hollister, roofie girl." She shook her head, _wow, that was dumb, _she thought to herself. "Uh, we talked the other night about Allen Chalke. I came home tonight from a late shift at The 24/7 Diner and Allen is home. It sounded like there was someone with him, another man for sure. Then, there was a loud crash and a yell from inside his apartment." She paused, pondering how to conclude her message, "So, that's it. Just wanted to report that information to you. Goodnight." She hit the end button. _Goodnight? Wow, your brilliance is amazing, Amber._

Her phone still clutched in her hand, she hauled herself back up the U-turn stairs, ready to finally dig into her wings that were getting cold on her coffee table. Taking care not to make her presence known, she crept up the last few steps.

"Everlong" blared suddenly around the corridor. Sam was calling her back. In a panic, she tapped the answer button. Her heart pounding, she held the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Amber?" Sam said.

Trying to remain quiet, she continued to tip-toe the few remaining steps to her door just as Allen opened his. Their eyes locked for a few brief seconds before he lunged at her. She opened her mouth to scream, but she was silenced behind the cloth he held tight against her face. It smelled sweet, like rot or decay. Her vision tunneled and her limbs became heavy, heels dragging along the floor and over the threshold of Allen's doorway, where her phone slipped from her fingers and the world went dark.

* * *

Sam woke to the rattling of his phone on the dresser. Groggy and confused in the darkness, he slowly took in his surroundings. All the traveling and hotels they stayed in; it was hard to remember where he was sometimes. His phone still buzzed its alert as he clicked on the beside lamp. Dean, asleep in the next bed over, didn't even stir.

Dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts, Sam swung his long legs over the side of the bed. His phone went silent as he picked it up off the dresser where he left it next to his wallet and phony badge. He didn't recognize the number, but saw a voicemail was left and played it back.

"Hi, Agent Ripley. This is Amber Hollister, roofie girl…" With the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, he continued listening while he stepped into a pair of jeans.

Dean started to rouse and grumbled, "Sammy? Everything okay?"

Sam sat his phone down, noticing the jeans he was trying to put on were too short and difficult to button. With an annoyed sigh, he pulled them off.

"Yeah, except that these are yours." He tossed the jeans at Dean where they landed across his lap, just missing his face. "Keep your shit on your side of the room." He requested for the millionth time.

"Where's the fire?" Dean asked as he began dressing.

"It's Amber, she called a few minutes ago, left a message. Allen Chalke is back home and by the sound of it, he might be up to something," he replied, tugging his t-shirt over his head. "I'm calling her back now."

He hit the call back button on the voicemail screen and heard someone pick up the line, but there was only breathing. "Hello? Amber?" He heard a gasp, followed by an inhuman growl. There were obvious sounds of a struggle and a clattering noise, then nothing. Sam ended the call and glanced over at Dean.

"What is it?" Dean asked through a wide yawn, rubbing his eye.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure Amber is in trouble. We need to go. Now."

The engine of the Impala roared as Dean sped down the road, blowing through a red light.

"Dean, take it easy. We can't afford to be stopped by the cops right now, or _ever_ for that matter." Sam chided.

"Hey, there is literally no one on the road right now and you said Amber was in trouble. You don't think that's a reason to hurry?"

"Well, yes, just…be careful, is all I'm saying."

"I'm always careful, Sammy."

They reached the apartment building in record time, squealing to a stop in a parking space along the road across the street. Dean loaded a round in the chamber of his pistol. Sam went around to the truck where he loaded up the sawed-off and stuffed extra shells in his pockets. He grabbed two bottles of holy water, tossing one to Dean. With a quick look around, they raced for the building.

They climbed up the stairs with well-trained vigilance, firearms at the ready. Their heavy boots produced a metallic echo through the stairwell. Dean pointed at the floor, bringing a trail of blood splatters to his brother's attention. On the second-floor landing, the door to the first apartment was ajar with the curious face of an elderly woman peering out at them.

Dean held up a hand, "It's alright, FBI," he informed her as he pulled his badge from his pocket. "Close and lock your door. We've got it covered."

She did as she was told and the brother's continued their trek to Allen's apartment. The splatters of blood increasing as they went. It was safe to assume no one had called the police. Maybe Amber and the old woman just below Allen's apartment were the only ones to notice the disturbance.

Once they reached the landing, they stood outside Allen's door. Sam knocked while Dean stood as his cover.

"Allen Chalke, FBI. Open up or we're coming in." Sam said with an authoritative tone.

There was no answer. Sam tried the door. Locked. The brother's exchanged nods and Sam reared back to kick in the door. His first kick cracked the frame. Second kick splintered the wood enough to allow the light to shine through. The third sent pieces of splintered wood flying as the door swung open, bouncing off the wall on the other side, nearly bringing it back to a close. Sam stopped it with his outstretched hand while Dean stepped in, gun held out at eye level. Sam, clutching the shotgun, followed him.

Dean turned down the hall toward the bedrooms, while Sam investigated the living room. There was an overturned broken side table and lamp with a few small puddles of blood. A trail of splatters leading towards the door.

"There's no one here," Dean said coming back to the living room. "Let's check Amber's apartment."

Back in the corridor, a middle-aged man from across the hall stood dressed in a robe just outside his door.

"FBI. Just, go back inside your home, there's nothing to see here," Dean said with increasing irritation. Sam flashed a badge and the man stepped back inside, locking his door.

"He could have witnessed something," Sam suggested.

"He didn't witness shit, he's just a nosey neighbor," Dean grumbled as he tried the door knob.

Amber's door was open. He looked back at Sam, holding a finger to his lips, as if Sam needed reminding to keep quiet.

They crept in, keeping their guard up. Dean took the same route down the hallway, calling Amber's name as he went. Sam took note of her purse on the dinette table and the uneaten food and half drank bottle of beer on the coffee table. Dean came back and stopped next to him.

"Wings and beer. My kind of girl," Dean said. Sam gave him the usual disapproving look.

"I'm calling her cell," Sam said as he pulled up her number. "If she still has it on her, I should be able to trace it."

As the phone rang on his end, they both heard a phone singing the Foo Fighters coming from Allen's apartment. Going back to search, the call went to voicemail. Sam disconnected the call and tried again. The singing louder now, Sam finally found it on the floor sticking out from under the coat closet door by the entrance.

"Shit, there goes my tracking idea," Sam said, dropping Ambers phone into his jacket pocket.

"Let's look around. There's gotta be something around here that might clue us in on where he took her." Dean suggested.

"Or them," Sam added.

"What?"

"Amber said she thought someone was with Allen. There might be another victim."

"Or another demon."

They split up and began rummaging through various drawers and cabinets. Sam came up with nothing. Dean finally came back with some papers in his hand.

"I found these back in the spare bedroom where he keeps his computer and papers and crap."

"What is it?" Sam queried.

"It looks like a lease to a garage. Dude owns a motorcycle repair shop."

"You think he would take them there?"

"I don't know, but it's the only lead we really have, unless you have some other idea?"

Sam shook his head.

"Okay then, let's check it out. If no one's there, we're back to square one." Dean asserted.


	4. Salt and Psalms

**Chapter 4:**

**Salt and Psalms**

Sam mapped out the location of the motorcycle repair garage on the GPS of his phone, relaying the route to Dean.

"Just keep heading east for the next eight miles."

"So, what's the plan if they're not there?" Dean asked.

"You're asking me? This was your idea."

"I know that, but if I'm wrong, we need a plan to get us back on track."

"I could try to track Allen's cell phone," Sam proposed, "but without knowing his number, it's gonna take a lot longer, especially if it's unlisted, and by then…"

"…Amber could be dead." Dean finished.

"So, for now, let's just hope you're not wrong."

"How far is it to this garage?"

"According to the GPS, about 20 miles."

Dean pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard.

* * *

Amber opened her eyes and a wave of nausea churned her stomach. She blinked a few times as her surroundings came into focus. Someone sat directly in front of her, so close his knees were almost touching hers. Dried blood matted to the side of his head and neck. He was unconscious or dead, it was unclear which. She reached out to touch him, but her arms wouldn't move. Ropes coiled around her wrists and ankles, restraining them to the limbs of a heavy wooden chair.

A lamp hung from the ceiling over a work bench to her left, illuminating the array of tools laying out in a neat and orderly fashion. Its wide aluminum shade restricting the light from escaping its perimeter. In the dimness beyond, several motorcycles lined the open area. Along the wall behind and to her right stood tall metal warehouse shelves displaying parts and tools and boxes.

She studied her fellow captive. He was young, 18 she guessed, with short light brown hair, a long face and a slim jaw line. The more she observed him, the more familiar he became; Raymond Chalke, Allen's son. They only met on a few occasions. He had asked her out on their last meeting, but she turned him down, mostly because he was five years younger.

"Raymond," she said in a loud whisper. "Raymond," she dared a little louder, but he wasn't hearing her.

Her feet still clad in socks, she tapped his foot with hers. "Raymond."

His head jerked to the side. She lifted her foot and pressed hard onto the top of his Nike running shoe, calling his name once more. Finally, his eyes fluttered open.

"Amber, what are you doing here?"

"I don't even know where _here_ is."

"We're at my dad's place," he said, looking around the room through his bangs that hung over his dark brown eyes. "No, we're in his shop. How'd we get here?"

"I don't know."

"Am I bleeding?" He tried to move. "Why am I tied to a chair? Why are you tied to a chair? What the hell is going on!" his voice steadily increasing in volume.

"Shhhh, you need to be quiet," she warned. "I think your dad brought us here. Your dad…he's not your dad anymore. He's some kind of monster."

"I know. I saw it."

"You saw what?"

"The demon."

"The demon?" Amber never would have considered this explanation to be credible before, but she was considering it now.

"Those black eyes, I knew what he'd become." He turned his head, breaking eye contact. "He told us, my mom and me, a long time ago that this demon was coming for him…and when it did, not to trust him; to leave, get as far away from him as possible." He turned back to Amber, his chin quivering, on the verge of tears. "Mom listened…I didn't."

"Raymond, listen to me. You can't think about that right now. You gotta pull it together," she pleaded. "We gotta get outta here, before he comes back."

"How do you suggest we do that?" he scoffed.

"Maybe you can rock the chair…you know, from side to side, fall over onto your side."

"What the hell good is that gonna do?"

"I don't know, I'm not an expert at being kidnapped!" she spat out in a harsh whisper.

She went on, "I've been wiggling my wrists around and the ropes seem to be getting looser…maybe I can get them loose enough to slip my hands out." With her narrow wrists and small hands, it wasn't out of the question.

Raymond balled up his fists, flexing and unflexing his forearms, yanking on the corded rope. The arms of his wooden chair began to wobble with the force of his efforts. Suddenly there was sharp snap. They both froze as their eyes met. Part of the right arm had broken free from its frame.

"Keep going, you're almost free." Amber whispered.

Raymond clenched his teeth and pulled his arm hard towards his body. The wood cracked and the arm of the chair broke completely free, though still bound to his arm.

"I don't think so," Allen stepped out of the shadows and swung a punch to the side of Raymond's face. He gripped the back of the chair and slid the dazed boy backwards, making room to step between them.

The bald burly man turned his attention on Amber. His usual friendly face was now twisted into something odious and vile. He raised his arm to deliver a powerful backhand, stopping just before making contact. Stout fingers cupped her chin, gently at first, then they dug into her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes turned into pits of tar.

"I just can't bring myself to mess up that pretty face. But the rest of you," he pulled a hunting knife from its sheath at his hip, "is gonna bleed real nice."

Raymond swung his free arm into Allen's side, the splintered wood from the chair puncturing him deep. The knife clattered to the floor as Allen doubled over, gripping his side; blood trickling out through his fingers.

Amber slipped a hand free from her bonds, the rope leaving her skin raw and scratched along the back of her hand. She bent at the waist, snagging up the knife by her foot and desperately began sawing through the ropes that looped around her other wrist.

Allen seized Raymond's arm, stopping his attempt at another blow, snapping his humerus in two. An agonizing wail escaped Raymond's throat as Allen kicked over his chair, sending him sliding on his side several feet away.

The knife severed a tendril of rope and Amber pulled her hand out of its confines. Reaching toward her feet, Allen grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her back up. She slashed at him, cutting him across the chest. He grasped her wrist, twisting until a sharp pain shot through her arm, forcing her to drop the knife.

He looked down at the wound she inflicted and grinned. "Barely a scratch compared to what I'm going to do to you."

A deafening boom blasted from behind and Allen's heavy form fell backwards to the floor. Her ears ringing from the blast, Amber turned to see Sam with a sawed-off shot gun in his hands and Dean running up behind, carrying an old rusted tin can.

"Amber, talk to us. You alright?" Dean yelled, setting the can down with a heavy clang, treading cautiously toward Allen.

"Yes, yes, I'm okay."

Sam darted toward her and set to work on cutting the restraints around her ankles.

"Did you kill him?" she asked.

"No, I hit him with salt rounds. Demons don't like it, weakens them," Sam explained as he gathered the ropes he'd freed her from and tossed them towards Dean. He dragged Raymond's unconscious body, still bound to the chair, to settle beside Amber. Unscrewing the lid to the antique tin can, he began pouring a white sandy substance around her and Raymond.

"What is that?"

"Salt," he explained. "If the demon flees its host it won't be able to cross this circle, protecting you from possession."

An animalistic scream was ripped from Allen's throat as Dean upended a small bottle of holy water over Allen's chest. The liquid burned through his clothes and his skin sizzled and smoked. With another monstrous roar, he jumped to his feet, stalking toward Dean.

Bawling his hand into a tight fist, Dean took a swing. His knuckles connected with Allen's jaw, knocking his face to the side, but he kept coming.

"Sam, a little help here!" Dean clamored, throwing another punch. Allen stubbled into the workbench, sending tools crashing to the floor.

Sam rushed up from behind, grabbing Allen by the head and slamming it against the hard surface of the bench. Allen straightened his frame and extended both arms out to his sides, hurling both brothers through the air by an invisible force. Dean plunged into a display of tires; rubber wheels rolling and bouncing in all directions. Sam collided against the garage door, denting and rattling its structure.

Amber snatched up the knife from the floor and cut through the last of the rope that held Raymond hostage, keeping her eyes trained on Allen's every move. He clutched a wrench in his hand and stomped toward Sam.

"Sam!" She screamed. "He's heading toward you!" Amber winced as Allen raised his arm, aiming to strike.

Sam kicked at Allen's shin, sweeping his leg. He toppled forward; landing face first next to Sam on the concert floor. In a swift and nimble move, Sam straddled the portly man's back, struggling to twist his arm around his back, prying the wrench from his fingers.

"Dean!" He bellowed, just as his brother appeared at his side with the ropes that held Amber only minutes ago.

Moving in practiced unison, they bound Allen's wrists. Allen bucked under Sam, attempting to throw him off. Dean leaned in, adding his weight to force him back down as Sam began to chant, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"

Another monstrous sound erupted from Allen's throat as the brothers were shoved off by telekinetic force. Allen rolled onto his back, opening his mouth wide.

"You ain't goin' nowhere except straight back to hell, you sonovabitch," Dean sneered as he emptied the rest of the holy water into Allen's mouth.

He spit the liquid at Dean's face, gurgling and convulsing as Sam continued his incantation.

"…omnis incursion infernalis adversarii…"

Amber understood every word Sam chanted; complements of her two years of high school Latin. _Who the hell are these guys? This is some serious Exorcist shit, _she thought to herself as she watched in horrified fascination. Allen's body jerked and twitched in reaction to the Latin words. A guttural growl rumbled from his chest, sputtering words in an unfamiliar language, attempting to drown out Sam's voice.

"…tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!" Sam finished the prayer. The same black mist Amber had seen in the laundry room poured from Allen's mouth, disappearing into the floor with an orange smoldering glow, followed by a deafening silence.

Dean checked Allen's pulse. "He's alive."

Sam stood and limped over to Amber. "It's over," he offered his hand.

She took his hand and he pulled her up effortlessly. She stared down at Allen's unconscious body. Her mouth agape, eyes welling with tears.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam coaxed.

Amber turned her crystal blue eyes up to Sam's. She took a breath to speak, to say that she was fine, but it was a lie. All the fear and rage her adrenaline-fueled body had held at bay came bubbling to the surface in a burst of emotion. She threw her arms around his waist, sobbing heavily into his chest. His muscles went rigid as he patted her gingerly on the back.

"I'm sorry," she pulled away, wiping tears off her checks. "I shouldn't have fallen apart on you like that."

"It's okay, it's a lot to process."

"Amber?" Raymond muttered as he began to stir.

"Raymond," she kneeled down next to him.

"You know this guy?" Dean asked.

"Yes, he's Allen's son."

"He has a son? And you didn't think to tell us this before?" Dean scolded.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think it was important." She admitted.

"You didn't think telling us he had son, living in the area, was important?"

"You never asked. You're the one who's supposed to be FBI!"

"Alright, everybody calm down," Sam intervened. "She's right, we never asked about next of kin. It doesn't matter anymore. Right now, we need to focus on getting everybody medical attention."

* * *

Amber sat in the back of the Impala, waiting for Sam and Dean to finish talking with Allen and Raymond. They were both in bad shape. Amber got lucky, she walked away from the ordeal with minor bruises and a serious case of rope burn on the back of her right hand.

She leaned her head back against the leather seat, closing her eyes. Dozing in and out of sleep, she was partly aware of the brothers loading their supplies into the trunk. The front doors screeched opened, the car swaying gently as Sam and Dean took their seats, pulling the doors shut. Dean turned the ignition and the engine growled to life.

"We're taking you home now," Dean said.

"You guys aren't FBI," she stated. "Who are you?"

Sam tuned around to face her. "Our names are Sam and Dean Winchester. We're hunters."

"Hunters," she mocked. "So, you just go around hunting demons?"

Sam shrugged. "Among other things."

"What do you mean, 'other things'?"

"Demons, ghosts, monsters," Dean explained, his eyes peering at her through the rearview mirror. "All the scary things you thought weren't real, they are."

"I let you both into my apartment…I trusted you and you lied to me."

"Would you have believed us if we told you the truth?" Sam asked.

She sighed and relaxed against the seat. "I don't know…maybe…after what I saw…"

"In our experience, the truth usually doesn't go over to well."

"What about Allen and Raymond?"

"An ambulance is on the way. Raymond's arm is broken and he might have a concussion. Allen sustained a puncture wound to his side, but I don't think anything vital was hit. Otherwise, he's covered in superficial cuts and burns."

Dean glanced over at his brother, "That's quite the diagnoses there, Doc."

"We helped them put together a false report to relay to any officials who might question them." Sam concluded.

The first rays of dawn were peeking through the clouds as they pulled up in front of her building.

"You need me to walk you up?" Sam asked.

"No, I'm okay," she climbed out the back seat. Turning back to them she said, "What I said, about you lying…I didn't mean…I just…"

"It's okay, we get it." Dean reassured.

She gave a weak smile and patted the car door. "Bye."

Sam nodded and smiled. "Take care."

She lumbered her way towards the building, the rumble of the Impala fading as they drove away.

* * *

**This may seem like the end of the story, but it is far from over. I have several chapters planned and in the process of writing chapter 5 now. **


	5. Hero Card

***This chapter contains explicit sexual content***

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

**Hero Card**

The glowing red numbers on the digital alarm clock read 3:04pm. Dean stretched his arms over his head and let out a boisterous yawn.

"I got you coffee. It's on the dresser," Sam said.

Squinting through his sleepy haze, he found Sam hunched over his laptop at the small round table. "How long have you been up?"

"Since one-thirty."

Dean slid out of bed, wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. Taking a sip of the now room temperature coffee.

"Where'd you get this? It tastes like old dirt water," he grimaced.

"From the hotel lobby."

"After I shower, we're going to get a decent cup of coffee and some breakfast."

"Breakfast? Dean, it's three in the afternoon."

"Breakfast is anytime food, Sammy," he yelled before he closing the bathroom door.

* * *

Dean took a bite of his omelet; loaded with cheese, bacon, red peppers and onions. On the side sat a pile of hash browns and two pancakes dripping with syrup.

"You find a case or anything this morning?" Dean asked.

"You mean this afternoon? No, nothing."

"Well, we were charged for the room another night, we might as well stay until tomorrow. Maybe head back to South Dakoda in the morning."

Sam nodded in agreement.

Scarfing up the last of his meal, Dean flagged their waitress. She sauntered toward him, swinging her hips. Flinging her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder, carrying a coffee carafe in her hand.

"Can I get a refill?" He flashed a charming smile.

"Sure thing," she filled his cup to the brim, then Sam's. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Just the check," Dean winked.

She blushed.

Sam rolled his eyes.

As she walked away, Dean admired her slender figure and long legs.

"I want to head over to that Target across the street, I need a few t-shirts. It's starting to feel like summer already." Sam suggested.

"Yeah, okay. I need more shaving cream anyway."

The waitress returned and placed the bill folder on the table. Pulling the corner of her lip between her straight white teeth.

Taking back his counterfeit credit card, Dean noticed her name and number scrolled across the customer copy receipt. He left her a generous tip and tucked the receipt into his wallet.

Rain drops began to splatter across the windshield of the Impala on the drive back to the hotel. Wipers screeching across the glass leaving yellow smears of pollen in their wake.

"Damn it," Dean complained. "I guess I'd better get a new set of wipers before we start driving across state tomorrow."

An unfamiliar guitar riff sounded in the car for a few seconds, then stopped abruptly.

"Did you hear that?" Dean asked.

"Hear what? This AC/DC song we've heard a million times?"

"Never mind, I guess it was nothin'." Dean brushed it off.

A minute later, it sounded again.

"That! You didn't hear that?"

Sam looked up from his phone, "Yeah, I did."

"Where's that coming from?" Dean reached for the volume knob, turning the radio down.

They listened. Wipers sweeping across the glass. Rain pelting off the roof of the car.

"Everlong" by the Foo Fighters sang from the backseat. The brothers locked eyes.

"Amber's phone," Sam reached in the back for his jacket, fishing it from the pocket.

"She's got a bunch of texts from someone named Kelly. She's the one who just tried to call," he said as Dean pulled into a free parking space in front of the hotel. "What are you doing? We've gotta get this back to her."

Dean threw the gear shift in park. "No, _you _gotta take that back to her." He tossed the keys.

Sam caught them without missing a beat. "What?"

"Come on Sammy, you're holding two hero cards in your hand. Plus, I saw the way she was clinging to you at the garage last night."

"She was upset, Dean. She had just gone through a traumatic experience," he argued.

"Yeah, and she was looking for a little comfort."

"So, you're saying I should, what? Just go over there take advantage of her vulnerability?"

"No, of course not! How big of a jerk do you think I am?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off. "You know what? Don't answer that."

Sam laughed glancing down at Amber's phone. "What are you gonna do then?"

"I've got that hot waitress' number…" he pulled the receipt from his wallet and peered at it, "…Tammy. And, there's a bar within walking distance." Waggling his eyebrows.

Dean climbed out of the car, walking around to the trunk. Sam followed.

"Now I see what this is about," Sam laughed. "You're pimping me out just to get rid of me."

"Here," Dean handed Sam three foil packets all folded up together accordion style.

"Dean, I'm not—"

"Sammy," Dean cut off his protest, "for both our sakes, don't come home tonight."

* * *

Sam wrung the steering wheel under his fingers. Pressing the gas pedal as the light turned green, reveling in the power behind Baby's horse-power engine. It had been a while since he'd been behind the wheel of the Impala. Grinning, he turned the dial on the radio.

"Driver picks the music…" he said to himself, choosing a top-40 station he knew would make Dean cringe.

Sam was glad for the excuse to see Amber again. The thought of possibly seducing her had crossed his mind as soon as he discovered her phone in his pocket, though he'd never admit it to Dean. Of course, he wouldn't come on strong. Things had to play out naturally, with only the slightest push. If he sensed resistance, he'd take his cue and say goodnight. Assuming Dean scored for the night, he would either rent his own room or sleep in the car.

Finding no open spaces near Amber's apartment building, Sam parked along the curb a block away. He sprinted through the pouring rain, splashing through puddles. Rain water dripping from the fringes of his hair.

He marched up the stairs, leaving filthy wet footprints behind with every step. Shaking water from his mane, he knocked on Amber's door.

"Sam! What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

Dazzling crystal blue eyes peered up at him. Irises outlined by indigo rings. Lashes long and full.

"Sam?"

Pulling himself from his stupor, he held up her phone. "I thought you might like this back."

"My phone! Where did you find it?"

"In Allen's apartment, when we came in response to your call."

"You are a life saver! I mean, literally, you are a life saver…but I thought I lost this forever…" she prattled on. "I hadn't backed up any of my contacts and…You're soaked! I'm sorry, come in. Do you mind taking off your boots?"

"No, not at all," bending down to unlace his steel toed Thorogoods.

"I'll get you a towel." Amber disappeared down the hall.

_Hero card number one. _Guilt stung his gut for letting his inner monolog have the floor. Stepping towards the dinette table, he picked up a bottle of vermouth that sat next to its vodka comrade.

"Yeah, you kinda crashed my one-person pity party. But you're welcome to join. I have a pizza on the way," she handed him a fluffy mint green towel. "It's a veggie special, though."

"Veggie special sounds great, actually."

Taking the towel, he vigorously rubbed his wet mop of hair, the smell of lavender surrounding him. He dabbed at the soggy shoulders of his shirt, dragging the soft plush fabric down his damp arms. A welcome change from the rough thin hotel towels he had grown accustomed to.

"Thanks," folding it and handing it back.

"I'd offer you a dry t-shirt, but I don't think I have any that would fit you."

"Thanks. Honestly, it's not that bad."

He nodded toward the liquor on the table. "Martini's must be your poison of choice."

"Bottles gave it away, did they?" she teased.

Sam chuckled. "That and it was also what you were drinking that night at O'Leary's."

"It was. I can't believe you remember that," blushing as she smiled.

_Hero card number two._ Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to silence the lascivious thoughts from his mind. They were hard to keep quiet; her big bright eyes looking up at him. Plump pink lips begging for his attention. Spaghetti straps of her sun dress displaying her delicate shoulders and slender neck, stopping several inches above her knee, giving him just enough flesh to peek at.

Pounding at the door startled them both.

"That must be the pizza," she said.

* * *

Dean sat at the bar drinking a local IPA, when the tall redhead walked in. _Tammy,_ _I gotta remember that, _he thought as he stood up and pulled the bar stool out for her to sit.

"Hey, Tammy. What can I get ya?" Dean offered.

"A Miller Lite…" she said. Dean internally cringed. "…and a shot of Patron gold." Now he was impressed.

He placed the order, doubling the tequila. Picking up their shot glasses and tapping them together, "Cheers." They through back their shots in unison.

"Name's Dean Winchester."

"I thought your name was Marcus," she squinted in suspicion.

Dean shook his head, "What?"

"On your credit card you paid with earlier today. The name said Marcus West."

"I, uh…well," he fumbled for an excuse. All the fraudulent credit cards he and Sam used; it was hard to keep up with the names.

"Credit card fraud is a serious crime. I may have to turn you in," she said.

Sweat began to form at the edge of his hairline.

"But I'm not going to," she continued.

"No? Why's that?" he swallowed hard.

"Because I'd like to keep that generous tip you left me," her fingers brushed through his hair and down the nape of his neck. "And, you are just too delicious for words."

She leaned in and kissed him. Soft and gentle, with just a brush of her tongue against his bottom lip.

"How about another round of shots?" she suggested, "On me this time."

"Nah, I've got us covered," flashing the fake credit card. He nodded toward the open pool table. "You play?"

"I do," she replied, hopping off her stool and sashaying over to the table. "Prepare to have your ass handed to you."

Dean bit his lip as he watched her slink across the room.

Two games and several rounds of drinks later, Tammy had all but wiped the floor with him.

"You ready to get outta here?" she asked, hanging the pool cue back on the rack.

"What, you're not gonna romance me first?" Dean smirked.

Her mouth was on his in an instant, slipping her tongue past his teeth. Fingers running through his hair.

Dean pulled back, creating some distance between them.

"Listen, Tammy, there's something I wanna say…"

"Oh god. You're not married, are you?"

"No! No, I'm not married," he chuckled. "Look, I'm only in town for tonight, just passing through. I just want to be clear about things."

"I see," she squinted her hazel eyes at him. "So, what you're saying is, this is going to be a one-night thing?"

"That's what I'm sayin'."

Slinking one slender arm around his neck, hooking the other around his waist. "Well then, Mr. Winchester," she grabbed a handful of his backside and pulled him tight against her. "You'd better make it worth my while."

* * *

"Martini's and veggie pizza is a combination I have never had before," Sam said.

"I offered you beer," she replied, finishing her second piece of pie.

"I crashed your pity party; host rules."

"You were hungry, I see," she gestured to the four pieces of crust left on his plate.

"Yes. I was. I never ate lunch today. I just watched my brother eat. Thank you, by the way."

"You're welcome…So, Winchester, huh? It's funny how appropriately named you are."

"Yeah, Winchester Rifles, crazy woman who built a mystery of a house."

"I've been to that house," she stated.

"So have I. Contrary to all the stories, It's not haunted."

They laughed in unison.

"You want another?" Amber offered to refill his drink.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

She filled the shaker with ice while Sam cleaned up their dishes.

"I can't stop seeing those black eyes. When I was tied to that chair…the way he looked at me…" she recalled as she poured the liquor into the shaker. "If you and Dean hadn't shown up…" Warmth from his hand covered her bare shoulder. Her heart fluttered.

"I just don't understand," she continued as she poured the beverage into their glasses. "Why would something like that happen?" She handed him his drink, taking a sip of her own.

"He told me what he did," Sam confessed. "When we helped them come up with that false story for the authorities…"

"What did he say?"

"When he was in high school, he got mixed up in witchcraft, with a few friends."

"Witchcraft?" She wouldn't have believed it before now.

"Yeah. From how he explained things, they came across a spell that would allow them to catch a demon. They thought they could use it to gain wealth and power."

"It didn't work?"

"Yes, it did. They caught the demon in a jar that was etched in sigils meant to contain a spirit or demon. They quickly realized that it wasn't going to grant them anything unless they gave it a vessel to possess, and even then, it wasn't going to comply without payment."

"Payment? What, like their souls?"

"Yeah, that's usually how it works. So," Sam let out a heavy sigh, "realizing they were in over their heads, they buried the jar with the demon still contained. Allen would hike out to the burial site every year or so and dig it up, to make sure it was still contained. About a month ago, he found it broken. He knew the demon would want revenge, there was no hiding from it."

"I still don't understand? Why didn't it just kill them?"

"That wasn't punishment enough. It wanted to possess them, make them do things; things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives."

"Thank God you were able to perform that exorcism. I thought only priests could do that."

"You knew that's what we were doing?"

"Yeah, I've seen The Exorcist…and I took two years of Latin in high school so I knew every word you were saying."

"You took Latin? Were you prepping for college?"

Amber laughed, "My aspirations were never that high. I took it because some of my friends were taking it. I just wanted to be part of the crowd. Look at me. I'm a waitress at an all-hours restaurant."

"Don't sell yourself short. You have a lot of untapped potential."

"That's sweet, Sam, but you don't know anything about me."

"I know you're smart and resourceful. When we showed up at that garage, you were halfway out of those ropes and I saw you hold your own against that demon."

Warmth spread through her cheeks under the intensity of his stare. Flecks of blue, green and gold mixed in his eyes, framed by dark brown hair.

"It was just instinct. I did what anyone would have done." Her eyes trailed along his features. Smooth shaven skin complimenting his strong jawline. V-neck collar revealing the curve of his clavicle and dip of his pectorals. Shirt clinging to his well sculpted frame, spiking her curiosity as to what lied underneath.

"No, not everyone can keep a level head during situations like that. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Amber."

Her name sounded like a melody falling from his lips. She longed to hear it again.

Watching the sinewy fibers move under his forearm as a broad hand wrapped around the rocks glass. Sleeve stretched tight around his bicep while lifting the drink to his mouth.

He placed the glass on the counter with a clink, snapping her out of her daze.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," she gulped down her martini.

He stepped closer, fingers trailing up her bare arm, eyes glancing down to her mouth. Following his lead, she tilted her head up to meet him. Pressing a soft, tender kiss against her lips for a teasing moment. His eyes dancing over her face as a hand wandered to her neck, thumb caressing her cheek. Guiding her back to his mouth, tongue slipping over hers, kissing her thoroughly. A strong arm threading around her waist and pulling her tight.

Her pulse pounding in her ears as she tangled her fingers in his hair. The taste of vodka on his tongue. His hard chest pressed against hers. Callused fingers slid up her thigh, the fabric of her dress collecting against his wrist. Sneaking her hand under Sam's shirt, exploring the landscape of his back.

He left her mouth, kissing along her jaw and down the column of her neck. Heat from his tongue tracing along her collar bone. Fingers squeezing at the flesh of her backside under her dress.

"Sam," she huffed.

His mouth moving back up her throat.

"Sam, wait…" she pushed gently against his chest.

"Yeah," he panted, pulling away.

"If we're gonna do this, I'm going to need you to wear a condom. I know it's a total mood killer, but I hardly know you and you're leaving tomorrow…"

"It's not a problem, I've got it covered," he said before kissing her again.

His feet shuffled them towards the couch.

"Let's take this to the bedroom," she suggested.

"Whatever you want."

She took his hand, leading the way.

Crossing the threshold, Amber turned, crashing into him. Throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him with heated fervor. His vast frame encompassing her. Massive hands splayed across her back. Evidence of his desire pressing hard against her lower belly. Sudden apprehension washed over her, worrying he might be more than she can handle; nothing about him was small.

Sam reached for his collar to pull off his shirt.

"No," Amber halted him. "I want to do that."

A coquettish smile spread across his face.

Rising up on her tip-toes to tug the garment over his head, presenting ample amounts of tanned skin. Gliding her hands along taunt flesh. Fingertips rising and falling with the contours of his chest. His heart hammering under her touch.

Sam dragged the zipper open along her back. Pushing the straps off her shoulders, letting the linen fall in a heap at her feet. Seizing her lips in another searing kiss, leaning her back onto the bed, until she was laid out under him.

She shimmed farther up the mattress; Sam crawling after her. Kissing a trail up her torso as he went.

Cradling his hips between her thighs as her mouth reached for his. His broad hand smoothing over the delicate curve of her waist, the arch of her hip, the soft skin of her thigh. Slipping under the edge of her damping lace panties. Coarse fingertips slid through her slick folds, teasing her most intimate parts. Tugging at his hair, her hips rolled against his hand, seeking out more friction. Moaning into Sam's mouth as thick fingers dipped into her wet heat. His careful ministrations quickly building the tension deep in within her.

"You feel amazing," his voice rumbled in her ear.

His words alone were enough to send her tumbling over the edge. Biting her lip to hold back her cry, struggling to restrain the coil from snapping too soon. But her body betrayed her, clenching hard around his fingers, his name spilling from her lips.

Raking her nails down his sculpted torso, stopping at the edge of his jeans. Fingers fumbling with the button, eager to discover how much he had to offer. She reached into his boxers, wrapping her petite hand around his full arousal. Relieved he wasn't the beast she imagined, though he had plenty to be proud of. He groaned at her touch. Yanking down the cup of her bra, capturing a nipple in his mouth.

Amber shoved at the waist of Sam's jeans, attempting to push them past his hips. He rose to his knees. Dipping into his pocket retrieving the chain of foil packets, tearing one off the top.

"You came prepared," Amber said, reaching around her back, unclasping her bra. "Was this your plan all along? To come over here and charm me out of my panties?" Letting her pink lingerie slide down her arms, baring her soft rounded flesh. His eyes raked over her, swelling her with pride.

"It might have been," he smirked.

"Well it didn't work. My panties are still on."

Hooking his fingers under the delicate lace still shrouding her from his eyes and slid them down her smooth creamy legs.

"Not anymore," tossing them over his shoulder.

Amber watched Sam shed the rest of clothes, enraptured by the view at the foot of her bed. A face that could rival the likes of any Greek God. A vast range of sculpted muscle, bulging and twisting under taunt skin. His perfection was enviable.

He tore open the glossy packet, rolling the latex over his impressive appendage. Amber reached out her arms, inviting him down. Lips colliding in a searing kiss as he nestled between her thighs. His length hard against her aching core. Dragging her heel up the back of his thigh, pushing against the firm curve of his buttocks, coaxing him on. Rolling her hips, desperate to feel him inside of her.

"Sam, please," she begged.

Then he was right where she needed him. Her eyes fluttered closed, relishing the delicious stretch of his welcomed intrusion. Squeezing his biceps, holding tight as he filled her. Arching into him, meeting his thrust. A strangled groan rumbled in Sam's chest. His long languid strokes stoking the heat that smoldered deep in her belly.

He was everywhere all at once. He invaded her senses. The weight of his body on top of her. Hands groping her breasts and tugging her hair. His soft moans filling her ears. The salt of his skin dancing across her tongue. Drinking in the aroma of sweat and shaving cream. The scent of rain still clung to his hair. Hazel eyes locked with hers as he moved inside her.

"I love the way you feel around me," he mumbled against her neck. His words igniting her fire.

Groping along his back, muscles rolling under her palms as his momentum increased. Clutching tight around the barrier between them, yearning for him to feel more of her. She smiled at his responding moan.

Angling her hips and letting her legs fall wider. Grabbing hold of his backside, pulling him further into her depths. Greedy for every inch. The familiar sensation of sweet tension building within her once again.

"Yes, Sam, right there," she pleaded. "Don't stop."

He obliged. Her release washing over her in pulsing waves, curling her toes. Her hands reaching blindly for purchase, digging into his skin and tugging the sheets. A lecherous mewl escaping her lunges as stars flashed behind her closed eyelids.

Sam slowed his thrusts, giving her a minute to collect herself. Kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheek. She grabbed his face, kissing him hard. Grinding her hips against his, urging him on. Wrapping a powerful arm around her, holding her fast as he pounded into her with unabashed fervor.

Meeting him thrust per thrust, gripping him tight; aiding him to his release. Finally, with a guttural moan, he reached his end. Panting and heaving, he untangled his arm from around her back and kissed her. Time slowed down around them as they floated back to earth. Recovering from their endorphin high in a sweaty sated heap.

"Wow, that was incredible," Amber confessed as they rested side by side.

"I don't think incredible quite covers it," he said, draping is arm around her, tugging her against him.

She settled her head against his chest. "Where're you guys headed tomorrow?"

"Back to South Dakota."

"Is that home for you?"

"We don't really have a home. We're traveling all the time; we never stay in the same place for more than a couple weeks. But South Dakota is kind of a constant for us. Bobby, another hunter who lives there. We stay with him during our down times."

She traced the outline of his tattoo on the left side of his chest. A five-pointed star encased in a circle of flames. "What does this symbol mean?"

"It's an anti-possession sigil. The name speaks for itself."

Brushing her hair off of her cheek, kissing her gently on the lips. His hand smoothing over the curve of her hip, kneading at the firm flesh of her rear. She draped her leg over his, feeling his length slowing filling against her upper thigh.

"Mm," she hummed. "Clearly you're up for round two."

Scooping her up, he settled her atop his body. "I'm up for it. If you're ready."

Straddling his lap, grinding her warm wet center against him. "Oh, I'm ready." Collecting the two foil packets from the nightstand, she ripped one open with her teeth.

* * *

Amber opened her eyes to the rays of light shining through the slates of her blinds. The left side of her queen-sized bed empty and cold. _How cliché,_ she thought, though she wasn't surprised. She knew the deal; he wasn't sticking around.

Sitting up, wincing at the dull ache between her legs. Throwing the sheets off her naked body and arching into a full stretch.

"That's a beautiful sight to walk in on," a deep smooth voice spoke from her doorway.

She dropped her arms from over her head. "Sam! I thought you left."

He walked in carrying two mugs of steaming fresh coffee. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," he stated, handing her a mug. "Cream, no sugar. I hope that's right."

"How'd you know?"

"The day we came to question you…you poured coffee for yourself and Dean."

"And you saw me put cream in my coffee?"

"I see everything, it's kind of a habit."

_Can he be anymore perfect?_ She thought.

"What time are guys leaving town?"

He looked down at his watch. "Check out is eleven. Dean will probably want to get breakfast. I'm guessing around noon."

"It's only eight-thirty," she said. "We could put that last condom to good use." She bit her plump bottom lip.

"You are insatiable," he pressed a kiss to her lips. Groping the swell of her breast.

A text alert sounded from Sam's phone. He broke away, pulling it from his pocket.

"It's just Dean," he leaned into her, pushing her back against the pillow.

"What did he say? Is he ready to leave?"

"He can wait," he breathed, diving back to her bare chest.

His phone began to ring.

Sitting up with a heavy sigh, he answered. "What?"

"Come on Sammy, we gotta hit the road," Dean's rich voice floated from the phone.

"It's only eight-thirty. Besides, why are you in such a hurry? What happened to Tammy?"

"She had an early shift this morning…And, she said if we show up before ten, she'll give us free breakfast."

"Why before ten?"

"'Cause of her boss showing up after that or somethin'. Now put your dick back in your pants and bring Baby back to me!" He hung up.

Amber giggled. "So, who's Baby?"

"His car," he rasped. "You heard all that?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, you had to hear that last part."

"It's okay, I've heard worse."

Amber stepped into her wrinkled sundress. Turning her back to Sam, dress wide open, giving him his last glance of her naked skin. "Zip me up?"

He did as she asked.

She walked him to the door. Both hesitating, the tension growing thick.

"I know we're probably never going to see each other again," Amber said, "but, if you're ever passing through, saving people…maybe give me ring."

Tracing his finger along her bare collar bone, sending goosebumps down her spine. "Maybe I will."

He gave her gentle peck against her lips.

"Bye, Amber."

"Bye, Sam."


	6. Don't Speak

***This chapter contains explicit sexual content***

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

**Don't Speak**

"What do you think of these shoes?" Amber asked, angling her foot in the stools mirror. Black cushy flats with a thin leather strap draped across the rounded toe with a small silver buckle off to one side.

"I think they're boring," Kelly answered.

"They're not boring, they're practical."

"Practical is just a nice word for boring. I think you should get these." Kelly responded pointing to the three-inch black heels with a slinky strap wrapped around the ankle.

"I do like those, but I can't stand in heels like that for more than a few hours, much less an eight-hour shift."

"Yeah, but those strappy heels make your legs look sexy. Think of all the tips you'd make."

"Excuse me, but my legs look sexy enough without the help of heels," Amber sassed. "And I make plenty of tips without heels every night. I'm going with the flats."

"Just get both," Kelly suggested. "Wear the boring flats to work if you must and the heels when you go out."

"I wish I could, but I can't afford both, unfortunately, and I really need a new pair of work shoes." Amber sighed returning the strappy heels back to the shelf.

"Get your sugar daddy to buy them for you," Kelly said.

"He is not my sugar daddy, Kelly," Amber huffed, heading toward the registers.

"Well, he should be. From what you've told me, he shows up every couple of months panting at your door…you might as well get something out of it."

Amber bit back her words while paying for her cute practical shoes. She knew Sam was using her company to his advantage, she wasn't naïve. Amber had offered it after their first night together.

She had seen him twice since then, and each time was just as sweet and passionate as the first. Being a generous lover, doing whatever means necessary to make sure she was satisfied. But aside from all that, she enjoyed his company, probably more than she should.

"I do get something out of it, you know," she continued in the privacy of her car.

"Okay, calm down," Kelly intoned, fluffy her hair in the passenger visor mirror. "I was just messing with you. I didn't mean to get your panties in a bunch."

* * *

Amber stood at the register processing her cash out report, preparing to leave for the night.

"Did you make any good tips today, Miss Boring Shoes?" Kelly teased.

Amber rolled her eyes. "Yeah, in fact I did. Don't be jelly you can't pull off flats like I can."

Maurice, the head night cook came bounding in to start his shift. "Amber girl, I hope you're thirsty," he said.

"Why?" she puzzled.

"Because a tall glass of water just walked in here asking for you," he nodded toward the hostess stand.

Amber peered around the corner. Sam stood talking to the hostess, with Dean at his side. A swarm of butterflies took flight in her belly.

"The tall one…is that him?" Kelly asked.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Not bad. Who's that with him?"

"That's his brother."

"You didn't tell me he had a brother! Damn, why aren't you banging him?"

Amber shot Kelly her best peevish expression.

The hostess stepped around the corner. "Amber, you've got a couple of customers requesting your section. I told them you were just coming off shift. Do you want to talk to them?"

"Yeah, I'll be right out."

"I'll take them. Put them in my section," Kelly reapplied her lipstick and adjusted her hair.

"Kelly, you're married," Amber reminded her.

"Doesn't mean I can't glance at the menu once in a while."

Amber approached the brothers. "Hey! You guys passing through town again, I take it."

"Yeah, we actually had a job not far from here," Sam answered.

"That sounds exciting. I'd love to hear all about it."

"I'll bet you do," Dean smirked.

"Dean…" Sam glowered.

"Relax, she didn't take offense to that," Dean said. He turned his green eyes to Amber. "You know I'm just joking around, right?"

"Yes, no offense taken. I have Kelly for that. Trust me, she's much worse."

"There, see," Dean smacked Sam on the back of his arm. "No harm, no foul."

"My shift's over. Kelly's taking over for me. But you can come over after. If you want."

"Well, since you're off, maybe we could grab a bite together. Somewhere else."

"Like a date? I thought we were keeping things casual," Amber speculated.

"Not a date…just a couple of friends having dinner."

"Okay. You mind if we swing by my place first so I can change?"

"Sure, I assumed you'd want –"

"Excuse us for just a second," Dean interrupted, pulling Sam away by the elbow. "So, you're just gonna ditch me for a little nookie?"

"You ditch me for nookie all the time, Dean. And anyway, that's not what this is about."

"Oh, yeah right. Like you're not going back to her apartment to screw her brains out later."

"What's the problem? Why are you having such an issue with this?" Sam questioned.

"Because, I'm just supposed to sit here and eat by myself?"

"You're not by yourself. You've got Kelly," Sam nodded towards Amber's closest friend.

The thirty-something woman stood at a towering six feet in her four-inch heels. Her serving uniform straining to hold the curves of her voluptuous figure. Long bleached blond hair styled high and full. Heavy make-up and long acrylic nails manicured in glossy teal and gold polish. Smiling, she gave Dean a wink.

Dean gulped, gripping at the sleeve of Sam's jacket. "She looks like she wants to eat me."

"You fight monsters every day, Dean. I'm sure you can handle Peg Bundy for an hour," Sam said prying his brother's fingers off his arm.

"Fine, but you're not taking Baby."

"I wasn't planning to," he thumped Dean on the back. "Have fun."

* * *

At Amber's suggestion, she and Sam settled on O'Leary's. Knowing her co-works preferred the liverier club scene a few blocks over; they were less likely to be interrupted by friendly or nosey banter.

Feeling secure in the privacy of their corner booth, Amber inquired, "So, what sort of evil did you save someone from this time?"

Sam hesitated, taking a pull from his rum and coke.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried," placing her fork across her plate, finishing only half of her grilled chicken salad.

"That's okay, it's just...things didn't exactly go well this time around."

"Oh. What happened?"

"It was a demon possession. Unrelated to the Allen situation," he clarified.

"An exorcism didn't work?"

"Exorcisms only work in certain situations. So many things become a factor. How powerful the demon is, the condition of the vessel, the immediate danger of those around…"

"So, the demon is still possessing this woman?"

"No, we were able to eliminate the demon."

"Eliminate? You mean you killed it."

Sam nodded in response.

"How do you kill a demon without killing the person it's in possession of?"

Sam shifted in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. "You don't."

"You killed her?"

"She was dead already. She wouldn't have survived the damage her body went through at the hands of the demon. It was powerful. If we hadn't killed it when we did, it would have killed more people, including us."

She sat in troubling silence. A murmur of questions and thoughts raced through Amber's mind. Sam had killed someone. Someone that could have been her. Was there really no other way? How does one even kill a demon? Bringing her mug to her lips, she gulped the last of her ale, washing her words down her throat before they could escape.

"Are you ready to go?" Amber asked, looking at the mostly eaten shepherd's pie on his plate.

"Yeah," he flagged the waiter.

* * *

Amber tossed her purse on the couch and headed for the kitchen.

"Beer?" she offered pulling one from the fridge.

"Amber, you've been unusually quiet since our conversation at the restaurant." Sam observed.

"Have I?"

"This is the first you've spoken since we left O'Leary's," Sam plucked the bottle from her hand and placed it on the counter.

"It just freaked me out a little when you told me you had to kill that woman. I guess I just didn't like hearing it."

"I probably shouldn't have told you," he picked the beer up off the counter and plopped into one of the chairs at the dinette table.

"But I asked. I asked and you told me the truth," she tossed a bottle opener to Sam. "I admire that about you."

He popped the lid off the bottle and took a long swig. "You admire what?"

"Your honesty."

Straddling his lap, she stole the bottle from his hand and took a sip.

"We don't have to do this, Amber. We can just hang out."

"Is that what you want?" she asked, kissing him on the neck.

"If that's what you want."

"What if I want to fuck you right here in this chair?" she began working the buttons open on his blue flannel shirt.

"If that's what you want," he responded with wanton obedience.

Kissing him hard, she shoved his shirt off of his shoulders. Groaning at the reveal of the white V-neck tee shirt underneath.

"Damn you and all your layers," she heaved into his mouth, impatiently peeling his flannel from his arms.

Sam tugged his t-shirt over his head and discarded it to the floor. Taking her face in his hands, he pulled her in for a thorough kiss.

She grazed her lips down his neck and across his shoulder. Sliding her mouth down his solid torso; the salty taste of his skin gathering on her tongue. Sinking to her knees as her nibble fingers yanked open the fly of his jeans. Her slim hand crept into his boxers, pulling him free.

Amber watched him as she let her tongue peek out against his straining flesh, dragging it along his length. His knuckles white as his fingers gripped the arms of the chair. She took him into her warm mouth, slipping over him again and again until her name was tumbling from his lips. Sam gathered her hair tight in his fists, his hips bucked slightly. She pulled back, suppressing the urge to gag while digging her fingernails into his thighs; reminding him she was in control.

She glanced up at him through her thick lashes as she resumed her actions. Lust blown eyes fixated on her every move. His chest heaving, breathing ragged. Her ego swelled with pride at the sight of such an imposing man unraveling at her command.

Sam tugged her hair, pulling her off of him. "If you don't stop soon, I'll be done," he heaved.

"Isn't that the idea?" she engulfed him again.

A stream of curses flew from his mouth as he surrendered to her manipulations, erupting on her tongue. She worked him through his pleasure, drinking him down, until he had nothing left to give.

"I wanna touch you," he breathed, tugging desperately at her sweater.

She stood and gathered the hem of her knitted top, lifting it slowly over her head. Smoothing her hands over the swells of her bra covered breasts, down her slender torso until she reached the waist of her jeans. Amber peeled open the front of the light blue denim, revealing the thin red silk that covered her intimate treasure. She leisurely slid the denim over hips and down her legs. Mounting his lap, she pressed the damp silk of her underwear against him; attempting to reawaken is desire.

Sam's fingers inched their way around her back, freeing her breasts from their padded confines. His multi-hued eyes followed the path of his coarse hands as they trailed up her body. Admiring every delicate curve until stopping at the ample flesh of her bosom.

"God you're beautiful," he rumbled, lifting his gaze to her icy blue orbs.

Her emotions swelled at his adoring words as Sam's mouth lavished her chest with doting attention. His arms cradling her close.

"I love the way you smell," he hummed against her skin.

"Sam…" Her heart fit to burst, pulling his hands away from her, halting his actions. "You've got to stop saying stuff like that."

Confusion spread across his face as she rose to her feet.

"I don't understand," he stood, tucking himself back into his jeans.

Not uttering a word at his statement, Amber pulled her sweater over her naked torso.

"What just happened?" he questioned.

Her silence persisted as she stepped around him towards the kitchen.

An oversized hand clasped around her bicep as Sam guided her gently back in front of him. "Amber, don't walk away from me. What did I say wrong? Do you think I'm just feeding you lines?"

"No, I don't think that," she sighed.

"Then what?"

"I don't…" _I don't want to fall in love with you, _she thought as she bit back the words. "It feels too intimate."

"You don't want me to tell you how I feel?"

"No, I don't," she answered bluntly. "Not if we're going to continue like this."

"Look, we don't have to keep doing this," he brushed her hair behind her ear. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want."

She pushed his hand away. "I know and I'm not. I want this, Sam, I do—"

"Then why—"

"Just…hear me out," she demanded. "I want you to treat me less like a lover and more like a fling."

Sam shook his head. "You want me to treat you like I don't care? I'm not sure I can do that."

"No, that's not what I mean," she paused, blushing while she chose her words carefully. "How about, you just be less tender? Don't be afraid to handle me a little rough. And don't say anything affectionate."

"What should I say?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing. Don't say anything at all."

"Can I still kiss you?"

"Yes. But kiss me like you want me," _not like you love me. _

"Do you think you can do that?" she asked, lifting her sweater off her body once again.

"Yeah, I can do that."

Sam spun her around, yanking her back against chest, forcing a yelp of surprise from Amber's lungs. The soft warmth of his mouth against her neck stirred the desire that began to pool between her thighs. Her legs trembled as his tongue traced along her collar bone. A broad hand kneaded at her breast, another slinked down the smooth skin of her stomach. His fingers crept under the silk fabric of her panties, teasing her swollen bundle of nerves until she melted into him. Widening her thighs as his fingers sunk deep into her core, inducing a moan from her throat. She felt his lust for her pressed thick and hard against her lower back.

He abruptly turned, bending her over at the waist until her bare chest was flush against the cold tile of the island countertop. Goosebumps formed over the surface of her skin as he dragged his palm down her back.

There was a sudden pause in his seduction. _Don't go all boy scout on me now, _she thought.

"Condom," he mumbled.

"In my bag," she breathed.

He leaned over until his lips hovered at the shell of her ear. "Don't move," he ordered as he stepped away.

For a fleeting moment, Amber considered telling him to forget it; to fuck her raw until he spilled deep inside of her. Her core clenched at the erotic thought. The reckless words clung to the tip of her tongue, but he returned before she could speak them.

Flimsy silk fabric tickled her skin as it traveled down her legs. The cool leather of his industrial boot slid between her bare feet, nudging them farther apart. Strong hands seized her hips. Then he sunk into her.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter as her body yielded to him. The tile dug into her hips from his vigorous movements. Her knees pressed hard against the cabinet below. The zip on his jeans bit at the soft skin of her cheeks. She lifted up to her elbows, attempting to ground herself. Flattening his palm across her back he pressed her back down with minimal effort, holding her in place. A sharp cry burst from her throat at his driving thrusts against her cervix.

"You okay?" Sam asked, slowing his propulsion.

"Yes, I'm fine," she wiggled against him. "Keep going."

Sam hauled her up flush to his chest, leaning her head back against his shoulder. His breath balmy against her neck. Large hands exploring the extent of her lithe frame. She stepped onto his steel toed boots, lifted up on the balls of her feet, desperate for a few more inches to meet his shallow strokes.

Amber whimpered as he slipped out from behind her. Taking her by the wrist, he towed her toward the dinette chair. Jeans hanging loose and open around his hips, feet still sheathed in heavy work boots. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap. Reaching between them, Amber guided him back inside of her. His long fingers encircled her slim waist, anchoring her hips as he thrust up into her; relinquishing her of control.

"Amber," he groaned. "You feel—"

She pressed a finger against his lips. "Shh, don't speak," she reminded him.

Amber raked her nails down his chest, evoking a hiss through his teeth. Sam snatched her hands away and swiftly settled her on the rug beneath him. Grappling her wrists together in one strong hand, he restrained her arms above her head. His free hand raised her slender leg over his shoulder as he buried himself deep within her heat. Her spine rubbing raw against the carpet with every forceful plunge of his hips.

A sudden surge of excitement washed over Amber at his display of strength. She thought asking Sam to treat her carelessly was the answer to distancing her emotions. Instead, he stirred a hunger in her she could never ask her past lovers to appease. Too ashamed to request their dominance. But with Sam, the shame would leave when he did. The subject would never linger, demanding discussion or questions. With Sam, she felt liberated.

The delicious tension began building deep in her belly, conjuring a lecherous moan to erupt from her throat.

"Sam," she pleaded, "Sam, I'm—"

His massive hand covered her mouth, muffling her cries.

"Shh, don't speak," throwing her words back at her.

Mewling into his palm, she went tumbling over the edge, crashing into waves of ecstasy. Chasing his own release with a heightened frenzy, Sam followed her into their sea of bliss.

Heaving and sweating, he untangled her leg from his shoulder, freeing her wrists from his clutches. "Was that rough enough for you?" he asked as he collapsed on the floor next to her. "If not, I won't hold back next time."

Amber laughed, "If that was holding back, then yes, it was perfect."

She sat up, hissing from the carpet burn along her spine.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "That looks like it stings. Why didn't you tell me? I would have slowed down or moved."

"It's okay. That's the consequence of rough carpet sex. You're lucky you still had your jeans on or your knees would have suffered the same fate."

"I'm no stranger to rug burn from floor sex, but this is pretty bad. It's starting to ooze. We need to put something on that," he suggested.

"There's a first aid kit under the bathroom sink. I think I have some Neosporin in there."

Sam helped her up off the floor and they headed toward the bathroom. He pulled the first aid kit from the cabinet and opened it on the counter.

Amber tugged a towel off the bar and covered the front of her naked body; more for warmth than modesty. The rustling of the gauze package and the running water from the faucet echoed around the tiny space.

"Okay, I'm going to clean it up first. This is gonna sting," he warned.

She winced at the feel of the warm wet gauze biting at her wound.

"Sam."

"Yeah."

"How do you kill a demon?"

"To my knowledge, the only way to kill a demon is with a uniquely crafted weapon," his fingertips dabbed lightly against her spine as he applied the ointment. "There's a gun, a colt revolver, with special bullets, but we no longer have it in our possession." He unwrapped another gauze package. "Recently we came across a hunting knife. Its blade has ancient runes or sigils carved into it. Since we lost the gun, that's the only way to destroy a demon."

He covered her wound with gauze and bandage tape. "Next time, tell me if something we're doing is hurting you," he insisted.

"I will. But honestly, I didn't really notice until we were done. I was kind of distracted," she smiled.

Amber hung the towel back on the rod and stepped around the corner to her bedroom. She draped an airy mint green night gown embellished with tiny pink roses over her head that hung to mid-thigh. Sam stepped behind her as she pulled a clean pair of cotton underwear from her drawer.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, plucking them from her fingers.

"I'm not sure I'm up for it, Sam. I'm sore and tired. I just want to sleep."

He herded her to the bed, where she gingerly laid her tender back against the quilt. Coarse fingertips grazed down her thighs, guiding them apart. Sam leaned in to taste her. Fingers tangled in his shaggy locks as his hot tongue slipped over her folds, seeking out her tiny bundle of nerves. All coherent thought fled from her mind as he spun her further into delirium. Her walls clenched desperately at nothing, feeling torturously empty.

"Sam…please," were the only words she could form.

Her back arched at the breach of his fingers. Panting and writhing as the tension began to build. Her arms flailed to her sides; fists tugged at the quilt; thighs pressed helplessly against Sam's ears. Erotic moans tumbled from her mouth as an explosion of blinding pleasure surged through her trembling body, abating all her other senses, until she shattered into a thousand pieces.

The mattress dipped under Sam's weight as he crawled to lay next to her.

"Well, that didn't take long," he teased.

She opened her eyes, pulling him down to kiss him hard, tasting herself on his tongue.

"Don't be smug," she teased back.

"I think I deserve a little smugness."

"Okay, maybe just a little," she turned over, snuggling her back against him as he draped an arm around her. She slipped into a deep slumber.

* * *

Amber pulled in next to the Impala parked in front of the motel room.

"Thanks for dropping me off. I know it's early," Sam said.

"It's no problem."

Dean walked out, carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Mornin'," he said cheerfully.

Amber and Sam climbed out of her car.

"What's the case?" Sam asked him.

"Wild animal attacks in Nebraska. Autopsy report claimed a heart was missing from one of the victims. Could be a werewolf…" he explained, tossing his bag into the back of the car. "We should head out soon," he nodded and smiled at Amber. "I'll give you two a minute." He ambled back towards the motel room.

"Dean, hold on," Sam jogged toward him. They spoke quietly to one another. Amber could only make out rumbles of their deep voices.

Sam came striding back with the keys in his hands.

"I have something I want to give you," he said as he opened the trunk.

She was bewildered by the symbol painted in white on the underside of the otherwise empty trunk. Then Sam lifted the bedding, propping it open with a shotgun to reveal an arsenal of weapons.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed.

Sam glanced around the parking lot. "Sorry, I guess I should have warned you."

"Jesus," she whispered as her eyes darted over pistols, shot guns, boxes of ammunition, various knives, wooden stakes, brass knuckles, trinkets, crosses, holy water, a can of salt…the cache seemed endless.

He dug around until he presented her with a corked glass bottle embossed with a cross. It held about ten ounces of clear liquid.

"This is holy water. You can use it against demons. It doesn't cause a lot of damage, but it's enough to create a distraction," he said. Then he handed her a leather cord with a silver medallion, bearing the same sigil tattooed on his chest. "Wear this, it'll protect you from possession. If you ever consider getting a tattoo, this would be a good one to get," he smiled.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Don't forget the effects of salt…if something were to happen, I can't guarantee we'd get here in time."

A knife with an antler handle caught her eye. The blade was etched in strange symbols. "Is this the knife?"

"Yep, that's it. Go ahead," he said, giving her permission to handle the weapon.

She pulled it from its strap, turning it over in her hand. It was heavier than she would have guessed and oddly beautiful, considering what it was designed for.

"Let's hit the road," came Dean's voice as he opened the driver side door.

Sam took the blade, securing it in its designated location. Laying the shotgun back down across the other weapons, he secured the case, then slammed the trunk closed.

"Bye, Amber. Take care of yourself," he said, hugging her.

"Me? You're one to talk," she said. "See ya."

She saw him several more times after that day. Sometimes as soon as three weeks and sometimes as long as three months. He continued to honor her request, keeping the focus only on the physical while withholding romantic affection. But it became harder and harder for Amber to repress her emotions with each rendezvous. She knew there was no future with Sam. If she confided her feelings to him, chances were, they would go their separate ways. As much as it pained her to do so, she decided the next time she saw him she would tell him how she was felt.

Then six months went by, without a word from Sam.

* * *

**What's the word, Hummingbirds? I see a few of you have been buzzing around, but no one is leaving me any comments or reviews (with the exception of the 3 reviews I got before I revised the story). Let me know how it's going. I'd love to hear from you.**


	7. Soulless

***This chapter contains explicit dubious/nonconsenual sexual situations***

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

**Soulless**

"You coming out tonight, Amber?" Kelly asked.

"I don't know, maybe," she answered.

"Maybe means no," Kelly rolled her eyes. "Come on, girl. We haven't been out together in months. And Maurice is gonna be there. He never gets to go with us."

"You know my car is jacked up. Are you gonna give me a ride home?"

"I ain't drivin' you all the way out to 'no man's land' after partying."

"Okay then. Guess I'm not going," Amber clarified.

"Why'd you have to move so far away? I don't understand how the drive out there is even worth this job," Kelly argued.

"My car issues were draining my finances. Living out there is saving me a lot of money, believe it or not."

Amber had found a young woman named Tina in an on-line add who was looking to split rent on an old two-story house. The only drawback being, it was a forty-five-minute commute out in farm country.

"Splitting the rent with Tina," Amber went on, "I'm paying less than half of what I was in the apartment and I have a whole house to utilize. It's kind of old and drafty, but it has a yard. And a patio with a grill."

"Well, when are you gonna invite me and Gary over for barbeque?" Kelly suggested.

"You know what? That's a great idea. Tina and Troy are out of town visiting their mom until next week. So, next weekend would a perfect time to do that."

"I'll bring stuff for margarita's and a side and whatever else you want us to bring. I'll make Gary man the grill so us girls can sit back and drink. And I can finally get to know this Troy a little better."

"You better not scare him off, Kelly. He's a nice guy," Amber warned.

Troy was Tina's brother. Amber had meet him when Tina volunteered him to help move Amber in. They started dating a few weeks later.

"Order up!" the day cook yelled.

Amber gathered the plates onto her serving tray and lifted it to balance on her shoulder. Heading to the table, her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. Smiling at the thought of her caller, she handed the plates out to each patron and hurried back toward the kitchen.

Pulling her phone out of her apron pocket, her smile fell at seeing the name on the notification banner. It wasn't who she was expecting.

"What's got your attention? Is Troy sexting you?" Kelly joked noticing the fixated gaze she had on her phone.

"Um, no…it's someone I haven't talked to in a while."

"Who? Don't leave me in suspense," Kelly pressed.

Amber dropped her phone back into her pocket. "It's no one important."

"It's Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome isn't it?"

Amber sighed. "Yes."

"That asshole has got some nerve," Kelly steamed.

"He's not an asshole," Amber defended.

"He disappears for six months; making you worry he's dead in ditch somewhere, and now he's calling you out of the blue hoping to get his dick wet."

"Damn, Kelly, can you be any more blunt about it," Amber sassed. She was willing to give Sam the benefit of the doubt. Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation why he hadn't called.

"It sounds like you might have a good thing going with Troy. I don't want to see you fuck that up because you're hung up on someone unattainable."

"Order up!" the cook yelled again.

"That's mine, been waiting forever," Kelly grumbled as she went to serve her table.

Taking advantage of Kelly's momentary distraction, Amber headed to the rest room to read the message.

{Hey Amber, it's Sam. I'm traveling through town and wanted to see you.} "Yeah, I bet you do," she whispered to herself. {Not sure if you still work at the diner, was thinking of stopping in.}

She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. {Meet me at O'Leary's at eight tonight.} She texted back.

Though he had in the past, Amber didn't want Sam meeting her at the diner. The last thing she needed was prying eyes and careless whispers floating around. O'Leary's wasn't a place most of her co-workers frequented.

* * *

With her shift over, Amber hung up her apron and freshened herself up as best she could.

"You're meeting Dr. Feelgood, aren't you?" Kelly asked her as she zipped up her coat.

"Kelly, would you shut your mouth?" she said in a forced whisper, "I don't want my personal business advertised all over the place, okay?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered back. "I'm not gonna to tell anyone if that's what you're doing," Kelly reassured. "Just be careful."

"Yeah, well, I'm not meeting him anyway," she lied, "I'm catching a cab and heading home."

"Uh-huh, well...enjoy your ride," Kelly said as she turned back towards the serving station.

Amber shook her head and headed out into the bitter cold. O'Leary's was only a few blocks from the diner. She bundled herself against the chilling wind and started a fast clip toward the pub. Snow began to accumulate on the grass and trees, but it melted as soon as hit the street.

The warmth of the pub embraced her as she walked in. She pushed her hood off her head and glanced around. She spotted him easily.

Sam sat at the bar, his large frame hunched over resting on his elbows, his hair covered the side of his face.

She walked up to where he sat.

"Hey, long time no see," she said, taking off her coat.

"Yeah, it's been a while." His eyes scanned her from head to toe and back again. "You look good. You've changed your hair."

"Yeah, the highlights were too expensive to keep up with, so I decided to go natural."

"I like it," he said, pulling a few strands of her ash brown hair to drape over her shoulder.

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and placed it screen up on the bar. She climbed onto the stool next to him.

Sam slid a martini glass towards her, "It's roofie free. I promise."

"Thanks," she laughed and took a sip. A vodka martini, he still remembered.

"Where have you been? Why haven't I heard from you in so long?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. I just haven't been in town."

Though he looked the same, something about his mannerisms seemed different.

Her phone lit up and buzzed on the counter. They both looked down at its glowing face. The name Troy flashed across the screen with a short message asking,

{What are you up to?}

She picked up the phone and typed, {Hanging with Kelly at her place, then heading home.} She hit send and placed it back down.

"How's Dean?" She asked.

"I'm not sure. Dean and I are on separate paths right now."

"Really, what happened?"

"Well, we just haven't been seeing eye to eye on things for a while. He went off alone to work a case and I haven't seen him since."

"Wow, how long ago was this?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "About a week ago, I guess."

Her phone buzzed again. {Have fun! I'll call you tomorrow afternoon.} She tapped out a quick response and stuffed her phone into her purse.

"You don't seem too concerned," she observed.

"Should I be?"

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. "Uh, I would think so. If he left on his own a week ago, he could be dead somewhere."

"I doubt that. He can handle himself."

"Wow, okay then," she said taking a snip of her drink.

His aloofness towards Dean's whereabouts didn't seem right to her, but then again, she didn't really know much about their relationship.

"I don't want to talk about Dean right now." His hand grazed her knee. She gently pushed him off.

"Sam, I'm seeing someone," she revealed.

"Does that matter?"

She arched an eyebrow at his non-typical Sam response. "Well, yeah. Troy and I have been dating for about two months now. He's a nice guy and we have…some stuff in common."

"Some stuff in common? Sounds like a match made in heaven," he mocked.

"Okay, maybe it's not exactly ideal, but he has potential. The point is, I'm involved."

"What if I told you I don't care?" Sam's eyes were unfazed.

"Okay, well I do."

He laughed in a condescending manner, "No you don't."

"And how the hell would you know how I feel it?" she clipped. _Seriously, what is his deal?_

"Look, Amber, if you don't want to come home with me tonight, just say so. You don't need to make excuses."

"It's not an excuse. I just don't think it would be very nice to fuck someone else behind his back."

He shrugged, "Just like it wasn't very nice to lie to him about who you're with and where you are?"

"I…he's out of town…I didn't want to stir up any jealous feelings or start a text argument…" she was reaching for an explanation. "Besides, this isn't any big deal. We're just two old friends having a drink."

"If this isn't a big deal, then why'd you lie?" He smirked as he took a sip from his glass.

"Because...it's just easier to lie than try to explain the truth."

"The truth that you're at a bar catching up with an old friend," he leaned over and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. His voice rumbled in her ear, "or the truth about all the depraved things you want me to do to you?"

The low timber of his voice vibrated over her skin, making her tremble. His finger traced the curve of her collar bone; the spot that always made her weak in the knees. Intense eyes held her gaze and her heart began to gallop in her chest. Parting her lips as she watched his eyes glance down at her mouth. Her breathing became shallow at the anticipation of his kiss. She had fully intended to turn him down, but he knew exactly how to play her, and she couldn't say no to him.

She downed her drink, "I want another drink before we go."

Sam flagged the bartender over putting in the request.

"You should know," she continued, "my car is out of commission and I'm flat broke. I'll need a ride home."

"Not a problem."

"I don't live in the apartments anymore. I live pretty much way out in BFE..."

He cut her off, "I'll make sure you get home safe."

* * *

Sam opened the door to his hotel room letting Amber step in first. It was clean and the bed was made. Either he hadn't spent much time in the room before contacting her or he hadn't slept. She heard the sharp clatter of Sam's keys hit the dresser as she sat her purse on the table and shrugged out of her coat. His large hand, cold from the winter air, gripped tight around her upper arm and dragged her towards him.

"Ow," she complained as she stumbled over her feet, falling into his chest. _What is his hurry? _She wondered.

His kiss was forceful; all tongue and teeth. The taste of whiskey still lingered in his mouth and the scent of his woodsy cologne swirled around her. Gathering the long tresses that cascaded down her spine, he tugged her head back, dragging his teeth down the column of her neck, biting at her skin. She yelped at the pinch of it.

Big callused hands groped under her shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He yanked her blouse off over her head and tossed it to the floor. His fingers creeped up her spine, feeling for the clasp of her bra. The elastic popped free from around her ribs; his hands easily engulfed her soft mounds of flesh. His mouth traveled to the valley between them as she arched her back, offering him to take more.

She tangled her fingers in his thick mop of hair, shoving any thoughts of Troy deep to the back of her mind. Not wanting to be plagued by guilt or shame, she allowed herself to be swept up in the moment, no matter how wrong it was.

She felt the warmth of his mouth at the swell of her breast, then the sharp sting of his teeth. She yanked his head away.

"Hey, not so hard," she heaved.

One corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk as he reached for the button on her slacks. She worked open his flannel shirt and shoved it off his shoulders. She paused as her eyes took in the change in his physique. Sam had always been an impressive sight to behold, with a nearly perfect athletic form. But now he was powerfully built, all strength and brawn. Her hands traced over the hard planes and dips of his torso.

His lips were back on hers, forcing his tongue past her teeth as he toed of his boots. He left her mouth long enough to shove his jeans off his hips. Amber quickly followed suit.

He lifted her up to sit on the table, wedging himself between her thighs. Amber's heart skipped in a wave of panic at the feel of his hard length nudging against her entrance.

"Okay, slow down there, big boy," she planted a foot against his rigid stomach, shoving him back. "Condoms are in my purse."

He stepped back to her, kissing her hard. "I want to be inside you," he groaned against her mouth as he grasped at her waist.

She pushed against his shoulder. "Not without a condom," she demanded.

He huffed and moved away from her to search her bag. For the first time, Sam had scared her. It seemed for a moment he was going to carry on without complying to her wishes. She certainly wouldn't have been able to stop him if he had.

Something was seriously off with him. The thought of Sam being possessed came to her mind. But that idea was quickly shot down when her gaze landed on the tattoo just above his heart.

As he stalked back towards her, she wondered if she should call the whole thing off or if she had past the point of no return.

"Sam," she began as she slid off the table to her feet. "I think maybe—"

In one swift move, he forced down to the mattress. His knee pressed hard against her inner thigh, forcing her legs open.

"Sam, wait..." she gasped at the burn of his forceful intrusion.

"Wait..." She tried to plead with him again. Ignoring her, he lifted her leg under his arm and moved with increasing abandon. She tried to adjust herself under his weight, pushing against his chest to relieve the cramping pressure steadily knocking at her womb. But she might as well have been pushing a brick wall for all the good it got her. "Slow down..."

He pulled back and snatched her wrists, pinning them on either side of her head with bruising force.

"Ow, Sam, you're hurting me," her words stuttered out against his pounding hips. She tried to read his expression, but his eyes where focused somewhere below her neck. His nearly shoulder length hair curtained around his face, keeping him partially hidden from her.

"Sam," she snapped. His eyes met hers. His pupils were blown wide, surrounded by a ring of a kaleidoscope of color. But those hazel eyes were devoid of emotion.

"Let go—" His empty expression turned nefarious as his oversized hand covered her face, cutting off her words. He shoved her head to the side forcing her to look away from him. She grabbed at his wrist, trying to pry his hand away. He abruptly stopped and climbed off her.

Before she had a chance to process his actions, he flipped her over onto her stomach. She scrambled up to her hands and knees, attempting to flee, but he grabbed her hips and hauled her back. She cried out at the sharp smack of his hand on her backside. He filled her again, swift and strong.

This wasn't the Sam she knew. He wasn't giving her the things she desired; he was taking what he wanted from her.

Her wrists were weak and sore from his vice like grip, making it a struggle to hold herself up. She fell forward. Sam followed her down until she was splayed on her stomach. His sweat covered body slipped over hers, his breathing heavy in her hair as filthy words poured from his mouth.

Trapped between his massive body and the mattress, her lungs struggled to pull in a full breath. She was hot and dizzy. She wanted to tell him to stop, to get off her, but she couldn't force the words out.

He lifted his upper body up with his hands, giving her some relief. The dizziness in her head fading. She could tell by his faltering cadence that he was close to his end. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut until he finally fell off her onto his back, spent and panting.

She pushed herself up on shaky arms, "Sam, what the hell?"

Sam looked utterly clueless. "What?" he said through uneven breaths. "You didn't enjoy that?"

"No, I didn't!" She seethed.

"I can get you off, if that's what you're upset about."

"Oh, how fucking thoughtful of you," she barked.

Sam rubbed his hand down his face and sighed in annoyance. "What's the issue, then?"

"How about you acting like a mindless animal the whole time!" His ignorance to her obvious struggles only fueled her anger with him.

"I'm sorry, but isn't this what we always do? I thought you liked to play rough."

"Play rough? There was nothing playful about what you just did," she fumed as she began gathering her discarded clothes, hoping to find her dignity in the process.

Sam stood up, not bothering to cover his nakedness. "And what exactly, did I just do?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

"So, you're saying I forced this? That I what, raped you? You never once said 'no' or 'stop'."

Amber shot him another angry glare. "Because 'wait' and 'slow down' weren't good enough?"

"You told me to put on a condom. It doesn't get more 'yes' than that."

"You went too far, Sam! What am I supposed to tell my co-workers when they see this?" She showed him the greenish purple bruises that were now laced around her wrists. She pointed at the purpling teeth shaped welt on the side of her breast. "What am I supposed to say to-" She halted her words, realizing how bad that sentence was about to sound. She tugged her blouse down over herself.

"You want to finish that statement?" Sam countered, zipping up his jeans. "What are you going to say to, what's his name, Troy, is it? Looks like I'm not the only one here with questionable morals. You told me you were in a relationship with someone and yet, here you are."

"You manipulated me into coming," she accused.

Sam laughed, "Okay, I'll admit, I tried like hell to persuade you, but you're an adult woman. You made the choice to come here with me, knowing exactly what was going to happen. I didn't force you here and no matter how much you want to believe it; I did not force you to do anything you didn't want. If you had a problem with what we were doing, you should have been blatantly clear."

She didn't know what else to say. There was no point. He either couldn't or wouldn't acknowledge the hurt he had inflicted on her, physically and emotionally. She didn't know what was wrong with him, but this wasn't Sam.

Her eyes were threatening to run over with tears, but she refused to let them escape. "When did you become so...soulless?" she said, unaware of just how literal that question actually was.

He didn't respond, he just watched her gather the rest of her things.

"Are you leaving?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Well, let me give you ride home," he offered, grabbing his shirt.

"Don't bother."

He chuckled, "So, you're gonna walk? It's the middle of the night and it's freezing."

"No, I'll hitch a ride. I've done it before."

"It's not safe to hitchhike, Amber and I told you I'd get you home safe." He stepped closer, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "Let me at least give you money for a cab."

"Sam," she held up her hand, stopping him from coming any closer, "I don't want your money."

"Suit yourself," he sighed dropping his arms against his sides in defeat, "but be careful. There are monsters out there."

She opened the door and turned to look at him, "Yeah, I know," she said and walked out.

* * *

**Leave me a few words, Hummingbirds. I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


	8. Possession

**Chapter 8: **

**Possession**

Amber shivered in the freezing night air. Feathery snowflakes pattered to the ground as her feet crunched against the fresh blanket of snow. Tiny clouds of condensation escaped her mouth with every exhale.

The cold dulled the various aches and pains that ailed her body, but it did nothing to sooth the sting of betrayal. Sam had treated her like she meant nothing to him but a convenient fuck. She wondered what had severed the mutual respect between them. Was it her disloyalty to Troy? That was enough to make her lose respect for herself. Troy deserved better.

The burning lump in her throat became too much to bear. Unable to suppress her tears any longer, she began to sob. Tears cold and icy in her lashes.

The dark road suddenly illuminated from behind. Shaking against the cold, she stuck out her arm, thumb extended, to flag a ride.

Deep rumbling of a horsepower engine slowed down behind her. She kept her face turned away from its blinding headlights until it stopped next to her. The figure inside leaned over, rolling the window down enough to speak. She recognized him right away.

"Dean?"

His eyebrows furrowed together as his eyes danced over her face. "Amber? What the hell are you doing out here?" He pushed open the passenger door. "Get in."

For a split second, she thought his eyes flashed black, reminding her of Allen in the laundry room basement two years ago. She hesitated to get in the car, but remembered Dean had the same tattoo as Sam. Perhaps it had been a trick of the refracting light in the darkness.

She climbed in, the heavy door screeching as she pulled it closed. The growl of the engine vibrated through the seats as Dean pulled back on the road.

"You were with Sam." He stated.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Every time we stop in this town you two hook up. Plus, I can smell him all over you."

She pulled part of her shirt to her nose and sniffed. Sure enough, his familiar woodsy scent lingered on her clothes. Though she wasn't sure how he could smell it over the scent of the leather seats and the faint odor of gas in his car.

"So, if you were with Sam, why are you hitchhiking down a dark road, in the snow, by yourself? Don't you know there are monsters out there?"

"Things didn't go so well between us tonight. Sam wasn't himself."

"Did he hurt you?" His eyes did a quick scan over her.

"Uh, yes and no. It's kind of personal."

Dean nodded.

"Why are _you_ here? Sam told me he hasn't heard from you in over a week. That you guys are at odds with each other or something."

He chuckled, "That's one way of putting it."

"Well, I mean it just seems weird...that you're here, on the same road, in the middle of the night..." It did seem quite coincidental that he happened upon her when he did.

"Does it, now?" His tone was unsettling. "I've been tracking Sam. You're right, he hasn't been himself lately...but neither have I," he shrugged.

They sat in awkward silence for a while. Snowflakes melted against the warmth of the windshield while the wipers kept a steady tempo.

Dean turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. "Li'l Red Riding Hood" by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs quietly resonated out of the speakers. She had always found the tune to be a bit on the creepy side. A song about deceit and manipulation, complete with an eerie, but catchy melody.

The leather groaned as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her backside still stung from the wallop of Sam's hand.

Dean glanced over at her, "You gotta tell me where I'm going."

"Yeah, we still got a ways. Soon you'll see a road on the left, turn there."

"Man, you really live out in the middle of nowhere," Dean glanced around at the empty fields of white on either side. "No one would hear you scream out here," he said, just barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"I said, it must be a pain in the ass to live out here, you know, so far away from town and all."

She was sure that wasn't what he had said. "Yeah, but the rent is crazy cheap."

"You live alone?"

"No, I have a roommate. She's out of..." she decided at the last second she didn't want Dean to know that her roommate and Troy were states away visiting their mom. "...out, working the late shift at the diner tonight."

Familiar classic rock songs continued to play. "The Midnight Special" by CCR was currently rolling out into the air. He made the left turn. Amber remained quiet.

The landscape changed from flat nothingness to dense trees, their bare branches heavy with snow. There was a house every quarter mile or so, set back into the trees, most with hidden driveways.

"Help me out, Mapquest. I don't exactly know where I'm going," he sassed.

"I live off this road. I'll tell you when we're close."

After another ten minutes, they finally arrived. "Coming up on the left. You'll see a brick mailbox column with blue reflectors."

He turned in and took the long drive through the trees until the house became visible. Dean leaned over the stirring wheel to look up at the old two-story house.

"Not bad for the sticks."

She wasn't sure whether to take that as in insult or a compliment. "It's not a dream home, but it's better than paying for an overpriced apartment in town."

She unbuckled her seat belt and was about to thank him for the ride when he asked, "Hey, do you mind if I come in and charge my phone? I don't have a USB port in here and my phones about to die."

"Really, you don't have a USB adaptor?"

"That's kind of Sam's domain."

"Dean, it's after midnight..."

"I know it's late and I'm asking a lot here, but I don't want to be driving around on these backroads in this mess without a working phone. Just twenty minutes and then I'll be out of your hair. Please."

She was reluctant to let him in. She had known him for years but had barely spent more than a few collective hours with the man. However, he did have a hand in saving her life and countless others.

"Okay, I honestly wasn't planning on going to sleep right away, anyway. Come on, I'll make you some coffee if you want." The bulky car door creaked as she pushed it open.

They crunched their way through the pristine snow, leaving fresh tracks behind them. She unlocked the door and stepped quickly to the keypad to punch in the security code to deactivate the alarm. Dean stomped the snow off his feet before stepping inside and closing the door.

Amber hung her coat in the closet and kicked off her shoes, making her way to the kitchen. Dean trailing close behind. She sat her purse on the small round breakfast table just off the kitchen. Dean hung his jacket on the back of one of the chairs and meandered around the surprisingly spacious first floor.

"You take your coffee black, right?" She asked as she stuffed a filter into the basket.

"That's right," he stopped in front of a corkboard that hung on the wall near the kitchen. A lime green sticky note was pinned to the board. It read:

_Amber, Here's the number for our mom's. Don't forget to water my plants. We'll be back sometime on Wednesday. We'll call you before we leave. Love ya, Tina (and Troy)_ An out of state phone number was written along the bottom.

Dean fondled the note between his thumb and index finger and asked, "Where'd you say your roommate was?"

"She picked up a late shift at the diner. She'll be home sometime soon."

Dean tugged the note off its push pin and stuffed it in his pocket. He stepped around into the living room glancing at a few framed pictures that decorated the fireplace mantel. One drew his attention. It was Amber wrapped in the arms of an attractive young man. He was lean with short brown hair and a wide smile that revealed perfect straight teeth. She was planting a kiss against his cheek. He plucked it from its spot on the mantel.

"Who's this?" He asked, holding the picture out in her direction.

"Oh, him...that's Troy. My roommate's brother," she explained as she pulled a mug down from the cabinet.

He sat the picture down, eyeing another. Amber was sitting on Troy's lap while he gazed at her with an adoring expression.

"You two seem pretty chummy."

"Yeah, we're friends," she walked toward him and handed him the mug of hot coffee.

"It looks like you're a little more than friends."

"What's it matter to you?"

"It doesn't. I just find it interesting that you seem all cuddled up with Romeo here, but you still spent the night with Sam," he said with sly smile.

"You gonna charge your phone?" She asked, dismissing his comment.

"Oh, yeah." He plugged his phone into the USB plug she had set up at the end of the counter. His battery read five percent power.

Amber poured herself a cup of coffee, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"What happened here?" Dean asked as the tip of his finger traced over the teeth shaped black and blue mark on her neck.

She flinched and smacked his hand away. He instinctively gripped her forearm in defense of her action. His eyes glanced down, discovering the ring of greenish purple laced around her wrist.

He smirked, "Sammy go all feral on ya?" His thumb smoothed over the wound as he tugged her arm closer. His jade green eyes locked on hers.

"What are you doing?" She snatched her arm out of his grasp and took a few steps back.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, you think I'm making a move on you?"

"I didn't...that's not..." she stammered.

"My brother and I share a lot of things, but women ain't one of them. Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm far from disappointed."

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself, sweetheart," he said with a cocky grin.

"Is your phone charged yet?" She glared at him.

He picked up his phone and looked at the screen. "Nope, only ten percent."

"You've got ten minutes and then you need to leave." She had grown tired of his arrogance; she didn't think she could take much more.

He sat down in one of the chairs at the small kitchen table.

"Have a seat, Amber," he invited as he pushed the nearest chair out from the table with his foot.

"I'm fine standing, thanks."

He shrugged, propping his feet up on the chair. "So, you said Sam wasn't himself tonight. How was he acting? Was he short fused? Violent?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Did he seem, callous and insensitive, maybe even a little cocky?"

"You mean was he acting like you?"

Dean laughed and shook his finger at her, "That's a good one." He stood from his seat. "But that is quite an assumption to make considering you hardly know me."

"I know enough."

"Do you?" He took few steps toward her. "Like you know Sam?"

Amber had never noticed just how tall Dean was. Standing next to his brother, who dwarfed most people, he didn't seem that tall. But standing in front of Dean alone, his superior size was obvious.

"How much do you actually know about Sam? And I'm not talking about how he likes his dick sucked, I mean really know him?" He moved closer, shepherding her farther into the kitchen. "Truth is, you don't know him at all, and you sure as hell don't know a damn thing about me."

Her back met the sink, "I know you're an asshole."

"Sweetheart, you have no idea," he smiled.

He was clearly trying to intimidate her, though she didn't know why. She hadn't done anything to warrant such revilement. She wondered if whatever was affecting Sam was also be affecting Dean.

"You know, Tina will be home any minute now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the green sticky note from the cork board. "I don't think she is."

Her pulse began to quicken and her mouth went dry as she tried to keep a poker face, not wanting to reveal how much he was beginning to frighten her.

"I don't know what your game is here, Dean, but you don't scare me," she said.

"Oh, I can fix that," and his eyes went black as pitch.

A shrill scream tore from her throat as she slipped away from him, stumbling over a chair. He made no attempt to stop her.

"Are you scared now, Princess?"

"H-how?" her voice trembling.

He pulled at the collars of his double layers to reveal a grotesque wound where his tattoo should have been. It was weeping in places, dark and sticky with old blood and pus that glistened over heavy scabs. She slapped her hand over her mouth, suppressing a gag.

"It's healing rather nicely compared to two days ago. We peeled it off nice and slow. You should have heard him scream."

She ran towards the back door. She turned the knob and tugged, but it wouldn't budge. The deadbolt was locked. With no thumb turn switch, it needed a key on both the inside and outside.

"Where you gonna go, Amber?" His baritone voice spoke from the kitchen behind her. "No shoes, no coat...the closest neighbor is a half a mile away...By the time I find you, and I will find you, you won't be able to feel your feet and you'll be on your way to hypothermia."

He pulled her keys from her purse and slid them across the floor. They came to a crashing halt against her foot. "Go ahead, run. I'll give you a head start," he taunted.

He was right, without being properly dressed for the cold, the ten-degree weather would be the death of her. She thought about making a run for the second floor or even the basement, but what good would it do her? He would catch her.

She ran anyway, up the stairs to her bedroom where she shut and locked the door. Grabbing the chair from her desk, she wedged it under the door handle like she'd seen in movies a hundred times. Her eyes zipped around the room, looking for anything she could defend herself with as his heavy boots pounded their way up the stairs. Amber expected him to taunt her with words, but instead he kept quiet, which somehow seemed worse.

Tearing through one of her desk drawers, she found a pair of fabric scissors and grabbed them. As she turned around, she caught her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. Her bright blue eyes were glossy and wide with fear. Her chest heaved; pulse pumping in her neck. Hand trembling as she gripped the scissors tightly in her fist. She forced her eyes to lower and there sat the bottle of holy water Sam had given her a year ago; the necklace wrapped neatly around it. She hoped there wasn't an expiration date on those things, because it was all she had that would cause any real damage.

She uncoiled the leather cord from the glass and draped it over her head, tucking the charm into her shirt.

Deans footsteps stopped outside her door. The doorknob jiggled. She expected him to start banging, to try to break down the door, but there was nothing. All she heard for the next ten minutes was her own heartbeat in her ears. She tip-toed her way to the door and pressed her ear against it, holding her breath to listen.

Silence.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to clear her head to come up with a rational plan. They had no landline and her cell phone was downstairs in her purse. She wasn't about to jump out of the second story window, especially without shoes.

Shoes!

Rummaging through her closet, she found an old pair of Sorel boots and an oversized hoodie. If she ended up lucky enough to get away, she now at least had a better chance against the snow. She stepped to the window and peered down. It looked like a long drop into a void of darkness; the ground was barely visible. If she broke an ankle, she would be no better off than she was without shoes.

Amber went back to the door and listened again. She slid the chair out from under the doorknob as quietly as possible and unlocked the door. With the scissors held high in her fist, ready to strike, she swung the door open.

He wasn't there.

Her eyes darted around the empty hallway, her breathing labored and her heart pounding. She moved into the hall, turning toward the first open room she came to. With a trembling hand, she groped inside for the light switch. The room suddenly flooded with light.

Nothing.

Turning back, she pulled the holy water out of her pocket and tugged the cork out with her teeth. Amber's blood ran cold when Dean stepped out of the last door at the end of the hall. Her eyes darted between Dean and the stairs, gauging the distance. Dean followed the path of her gaze and smiled knowingly.

She made a dash to escape but he was faster, wedging himself between her and the stairwell. She thrust the opened bottle at his face, flooding his eyes with holy water. His skin began to sizzle and smoke, filling the space with a wretched stench. He yelled, covering his face. Taking advantage of his temporary blindness, she aimed to stab him in the chest, but she worried the action might kill Dean. Redirecting her aim, she sunk the scissors deep into his thigh and shoved him hard back into the hall.

She ran down the steps, skipping a few as she went and taking a small tumble. Amber scrambled back up and darted towards the kitchen. Reaching in her purse, she grabbed her cell phone and searched for the name of the only person she knew could help her.

With trembling fingers, she typed, {help me dean is possessed trying to kill me} She hit send. It was a long shot, she knew. Sam had no idea where she lived and by the time he figured it out, she'd probably be dead.

Noticing Dean's jacket hanging on the chair, she frantically searched his pockets for the keys to the Impala. All she pulled out was a few receipts and a candy bar wrapper.

"Fuck!" She shouted.

"We've been over this already, Amber," Dean barked as he stumbled his way down the stairs, "I don't want Sam's leftovers."

He came limping around the corner with the bloody scissors in his hand. The burns on his face had already began to heal, but the wound on his leg still bleed fresh.

She made a break for the front door, her last-ditch effort to save herself. He caught up with her in three long strides, yanking her by the arm. Her back collided with his solid chest as he pressed the tip of the scissors against her neck.

Her phone gave an alert. Dean pried it from her clasping fingers with his free hand. It was a reply from Sam. {Where are you?} it read.

"You think your White Knight is coming to save you? That's not gonna happen, Princess. Word on the street is, Sam's lost his soul." Her heart sank, she knew it was true. "If he does show up, he'll kill you to get to me, then he'll kill me right along with Dean. And he'll do it without fear or remorse. That makes Sam a bigger monster than I am."

Tossing her phone to the floor, he hauled her back towards the living room. Her feet scurried under her, trying to keep up, kicking her phone across the floor in her strive.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" She cried, digging her fingernails into the sinewy muscles of his forearm.

He pulled her around until they both faced the large framed mirror that hung over the fireplace.

"Doing this to you? Sweetheart, this isn't about you," he said, his reflection smirking back at her. "This is about Dean."

"What?"

"That's right. Dean's right here, riding shotgun."

She struggled against his grip, but he held her tight. Somewhere in the kitchen, her phone began to ring.

"When I first saw you walking down that road waiting for someone to pick you up, I thought you were just some random girl. I was going to drag you out into the field and slit your throat; make Dean watch you bleed out all over the snow. But then Dean recognized you, and so did I."

"W-what?"

"So, I decided to play the part. Make you believe I was Dean, so I could prolong the inevitable."

"You can go to hell," she growled.

"Sam already sent me there," he said. "Remember?"

Amber's heart sank as she began to piece his words together.

"Allen was so much easier to take control of than Dean; that pesky tattoo getting in the way. It was Sam I really wanted, but without a soul, he wouldn't care what I did to you. And there's no fun in that."

She stomped hard on his toes and she managed to wriggle free for only a few seconds, but he dragged her back.

"Oh no, you ain't going nowhere." She tried to throw her head back, but she only skimmed his jaw.

"Dean keeps begging me not to hurt you. He likes you, thinks you're a sweet girl. He thinks if things had been different, you could have been good for Sam. Personally, I think you're a cheating skank, but who am I to judge?"

He turned her around to face him, holding the scissors against her ribs and forcing her backwards until she was flush against the wall.

"I wonder if Dean's ever killed anyone with his bare hands." His hand came up to tenderly brush a strand of hair out of her face. "There's something so intimate about strangling the life out of someone, knowing they're completely at your mercy." His hand glided down the side of her face until his fingers wrapped gently around her neck. "I think I'll put Dean back behind the wheel just in time to watch the spark burn out in those pretty eyes."

Amber's eyes spilled over with tears. "Shh, don't cry," the demon wearing Dean's face said. "It'll be over soon."

Then he squeezed.

* * *

**There is more to come...**


	9. Exorcizamus Te

**Chapter 9:**

**Exorcizamus Te**

Cold black eyes glared at Amber as she clawed Dean's arm. Pain shot through her larynx from his crushing fingers. Buzzing roared in her ears while a tingling pressure began to pound in her head. Her eyes lost focus. Panic swept through her as her legs kicked and her body thrashed, until a euphoric sensation began to tug her into unconsciousness.

Slowly the pressure eased, and the buzzing silenced. Her lungs expanded, pulling in a breath. Her hands flew to her neck as she doubled over, coughing at the burning in her throat. Dean's face came back into focus. His jade green eyes soft and remorseful.

"Amber," he said.

"Dean?" She watched him struggle to keep control of his own body.

"Keys are in my pocket," he strained to speak. "Go."

"Dean, I can help you," she only needed the words.

"No, not alone. Take the keys and go! I can't hold him back much longer."

Her hands dove into his front pockets, fishing for his keys; finally hooking them with her left hand.

"I'll find Sam and come back for you," she promised.

Dean's hand grasped her wrist. "No, you can't trust Sam." The demon's sinister voice mixed with Dean's as it tried to wrangle back its reins.

"GO!" Dean yelled, freeing her from the demons hold.

Dashing to the kitchen, she spotted her phone on the floor near the oven. She scooped it up and stuffed it in the front pocket of her hoodie to join Dean's keys.

"Sam won't help you," the demon said using Dean's booming voice. He stalked closer. "He's dangerous, unpredictable. You know that," his words seemed frantic as he tried to reason with her.

_He's scared_.

He charged towards her. Amber snatched the tea kettle off the stove and swung it hard at the side of his head. Dean fell against the refrigerator. Magnets and photos rained down around him as he slumped to the floor. She reached for the saltshaker and unscrewed the cap, dumping its contents over his head, singeing his scalp. Grains of salt drizzled under his shirt, searing over the flayed skin of his chest.

Howling in pain, he lunged at her legs. Amber shuffled out of his reach and bashed him with the kettle once more. He collapsed to the floor; blood trickled down the side of his face.

Grappling Dean by the ankles, she lugged his unconscious body out of the kitchen towards the basement. Dropping his feet with a thud, she rolled him to the edge of the basement steps. Only his torso would fit through doorway. Amber crossed his arms over his chest and folded his legs under her arm.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she whispered, knowing how much it was going to hurt on the way down.

She heaved and down he tumbled. Swallowed whole by the darkness of the basement.

Amber slammed the door and scurried back to the kitchen. She foraged through the spice cabinet, knocking over rows of spice jars until she found the cardboard cylinder of table salt. Hurrying back, she poured a line of white granules along the floor at the basement door.

She hastened to the Impala and stuck the key in the ignition, but it wouldn't turn.

"Shit!" She fumbled with the keys, trying the next one on the ring. The engine roared.

Wipers shoved snow off the windshield, leaving a thin layer of ice underneath. She cranked up the heat, setting it to defrost.

Amber reached down for the gear shift. There was nothing there.

"Oh my god! What the fuck?" she yelled in frustration.

Searching franticly, she spotted a tiny window of letters arched along the column of the steering wheel. A long skinny handle jetted from its side. She yanked it to "R". Draping her right arm over the back of the seat, she backed out of the long drive. The tip of her boot barely reached the accelerator.

Scooting her butt to the edge of the seat, she put it in drive and punched the gas. Her head slammed against the headrest as Baby's wheels squealed down the road. Its backend began to fishtail over the snow-covered asphalt. Amber took her foot off the pedal and turned cautiously into the skid, regaining control. The power and weight behind the Impala were overwhelming compared to her tiny Honda Civic.

Ice melted off the windshield as the wipers screeched across the glass. "Paint It Black" by The Rolling Stones resonated out from the speakers. Her fingers gripped tight at the steering wheel, body quaking as the adrenaline drained from her system.

Bright headlights appeared in the distance. High beams dimmed as the car came nearer. It passed. The red glow of brake lights reflected in the rearview mirror as Amber watched it make a U-turn.

"What the fuck is this?" she whispered to herself.

Panic set in as the unknown car gained on her.

Her phone began playing it's familiar tune from the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. Keeping her eyes on the road, she answered it.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Pull over."

She pulled to the side of the road. The car door slammed, and heavy footfalls crunched closer until Sam's imposing figure loomed at the driver's side window. He rapped his knuckles against the glass.

She cranked down the window, peering up at him.

"What the hell happened?" He asked.

"How'd you find me? How'd you know it was me?" her voice raspy from her near strangulation.

"Tracked your phone and Dean's not that short. Tell me what happened," he demanded.

"Dean picked me up on Route 17 and drove me home. He asked if he could come in to charge his phone," she explained. "Then his eyes turned black and he tried to strangle me."

Sam reached in the car and grasped her chin. Tilting her face up, he took notice of the contusions around her neck; no query to her wellbeing.

"Where is he now?"

"I hit him with a tea pot and pushed him into my basement. I poured salt in front of the door."

"Smart," he said. "What about the windows?"

"What?"

"The basement windows. Did you salt them?"

"N-no. I didn't think about it."

Sam shook his head. "_Not_ smart."

"They're not big enough for anyone to fit through." She tried to reason.

"Drive back to your house, I'll follow. Hopefully he's still there," he said as he walked back to his car.

* * *

Amber stopped in front of the garage. Sam pulled up behind her. Stepping out of the Impala, she dropped the keys into Sam's outstretched hand. He opened the trunk and propped open the weapons cache.

"Here," he handed her a large, aged tin of salt. "Salt the basement widows."

The weight of the can jerked her shoulder. "Shouldn't we check to see if he's still there?"

"Salt the windows first," he loaded salt rounds into a sawed-off double barrel shotgun. "Then we'll check."

She poured salt along the first small rectangle window that ran level with the ground. Snow melted under the dissolving granules. Tucking her hand into the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she brushed the light powdery snow away from the window. Peering through the glass, she tried to spy any evidence of movement, but the darkness was too thick. She continued to pour copious amounts of salt along the exposed ground in front of the window, hoping it was enough to keep its solid form. She did the same to the other two windows.

Stepping from around the house, Amber noticed Sam tuck something under his jacket behind his back. She sat the nearly empty tin next to the car.

"Can you shoot one of these?" he asked, holding a pistol grip single barrel shotgun.

"I've shot a pistol a few times, never a shotgun."

He held it out in front of him, aiming toward the trees. "Hold it with two hands; one on the grip, one on the fore end. Keep your fingers clear of the barrel," he demonstrated. "Don't hold it near your face, keep it out in front of you. Safety is here. Pump to reload." He handed her the gun.

Amber took it reluctantly.

"Repeat what I just showed you," he said impatiently.

Amber held it the way he had taught her. "You'll wanna brace yourself against the recoil. Keep a wide stance and lean forward a little when you shoot." She mirrored his instructions. "Good," he said, ending the brief lesson.

"Take this," he handed her a leather covered journal with a leather cord hanging between two selected pages. "The page is marked. I'm gonna need you to read the psalm while I keep him busy. Use the gun only if you need to."

As he reached up to slam the trunk, Amber spotted the antler handle peeking out from under his jacket at his back.

"You have the knife," she said. "You aren't seriously going to use that?"

"If I have to."

"Sam, he's your brother."

"It doesn't matter who he is; the demon is in control now."

Sam collected the sawed off and headed toward the front door.

"No, he's still in there! He spoke to me, Sam! He saved me!" she pleaded. "Promise me you won't kill him."

Sam stopped at the foot of the porch steps. "I'm not promising anything. The priority is getting rid of that demon. If that means I have to kill Dean, then I will."

Amber lifted the single barrel and aimed it Sam. "I'm not going to let you kill Dean."

Sam chuckled. "Or what? You'll shoot me with rock salt?"

"Yes."

Sam calmly placed his sawed-off on the hood of the Impala and put his hands up at his sides.

"I can leave you here to deal with this on your own. Is that what you'd prefer?" He stepped closer.

"Just, leave the knife, Sam. Please."

"No."

He yanked the gun from her hands and tossed it in the snow. Twisting her arm around her back, he shoved her against the side of the Impala.

"That was a _stupid_ move," the weight of his body crushed her against the glass. "I like you, Amber. I've always admired your spunk," his mouth hovered at her ear; breath hot against her cheek. "And you're a hell of a lot of fun…But if you threaten me like that again, I _will_ hurt you," he wrenched her arm until a sharp pain shot through to her shoulder. "Have I made that clear?"

"Yes!" she rasped.

He released her and stepped away.

She clutched her shoulder, rubbing out the kink. Her threat on him had been empty, but his wasn't. She thought about the way he hurt her without even trying just a couple hours before. It terrified her to think what he'd do when he meant it.

The thought of leaving came to her mind. The demon inside of Dean was afraid of Sam, he could handle it on his own. But she needed to make sure Dean came out alive, even if she had to blast Sam full of rock salt to do it.

"Next time you plan to use this, make sure the safety's off," he said as handed her the gun.

She followed Sam into the house towards the repetitive pounding against the basement door.

"Amber?" Came Dean's muffled voice. "Amber, it's okay. The demon's gone. You can let me out."

Amber's eyes meet Sam's. He pointed to the line of salt on the floor.

"Then come on out, Dean. There's nothing stopping you," Sam said.

Footfalls descended the basement stairs.

Sam opened the door and flipped on the light. Holding the sawed-off out in front of him, they cautiously headed down.

"Start reading," Sam instructed.

Amber leaned the gun against the corner at the top of the steps and began to read the Latin words. "Exorcizamus te…"

The book was ripped from her fingers by an unseen force, landing behind a stack of plastic storage bins. Sam aimed his gun toward the noise. Dean pounced from under the stairs, knocking the weapon from Sam's grip.

Amber reached for her gun and descended a few more steps, pointing the barrel at Dean. Sam shoved Dean against the brick wall, punching him square in the jaw. Dean swung back.

Their scuffling movements impaired her aim. She scurried down the steps, slipping past them. She shoved a short tower of bins to the side and snatched the leather-bound journal up off the floor. Searching franticly for the page that was no longer marked.

A demonic scream tore her attention from the pages. Sam sat atop Dean's flailing body; smoke billowed around them. The familiar stench of burning flesh wafted around the small space.

Sam pulled the knife from behind his back and stabbed down. Dean blocked Sam's wrist, stopping the blade from plunging into his chest. The blade hovered over Dean's heart as they each struggled to overpower the other.

"Sam! Don't!" Amber aimed at Sam, knowing if they came out of this alive, he would make do on his threat.

The gun wouldn't fire.

"Shit," she tilted the gun and switched off the safety.

She aimed again and pulled the trigger.

A sudden ringing filled her ears as the recoil threw her arms up, sending rock pellets into the wooden beams of the ceiling. She stumbled, landing hard on her backside.

Dean gained the upper hand, flipping Sam to his back and delivering another blow to his jaw. He wrenched the knife from Sam's fist.

"Have fun in hell, you soulless sonofabitch," the demon said.

Sam fought against him, but the demon was overpowering. The point of the blade pierced Sam's flesh. Sam yelled as it slowly sank further into his chest.

Amber pumped the shotgun; feeding the chamber a fresh round as it spat the spent shell to the floor. Bracing herself for the blast, she aimed at Dean and squeezed the trigger.

Dean fell back; the knife flew from his hand, lost in the shadows of basement. Muffled words resonated from Sam's mouth in a steady cadence as he struggled to keep Dean restrained. Dean bore his thumb into the fresh stab wound on Sam's chest, putting a halt to the prayer.

Amber swiftly flipped through the pages, finding the psalm. She began to read aloud, her own voice drowned out by the continuous ringing that chimed in her ears.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"

Dark mist rushed from Dean's mouth, blustering around the room in search of an escape. It hovered in front of Amber, studying her as she read.

"…omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" it darted away.

_The necklace, _she thought.

Sam's voice became clearer, as they spoke the last of the incantation in unison. The dark fog floated to the floor and dissolved into the ground, leaving the room eerily placid.

"Are you hurt?" Sam's muffled voice came from beside her.

"No," she said. "But you are."

"I'm fine. It didn't pierce very deep."

Amber crawled over to Dean's unconscious body. His chest steadily rose and fell with each breath.

"We gotta get him to a hospital."

"Help me get him up the stairs," Sam said has he gathered Dean under the arms.

They made the awkward ascend to the main floor, where Sam hauled Dean over this shoulder and out to the Impala. Amber opened the passenger door. Sam plopped Dean's limp form on the seat. He disappeared back inside the house while Amber climbed into the car, trying to rouse Dean.

"Dean," she said as she brushed her fingers through his hair line. His skin split open from the crack of the tea kettle. Blood sticky and congealed down the side of his face. Small superficial burns scattered along his head and body. Busted lip and bruised cheek from Sam's fists. Stab wound in his thigh, and deep burns burrowed into his side from salt pellets.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Long fingers clamped around her upper arm, dragging her across the bench seat. Sam pinned her shoulder against the back of the seat, glaring down at her. This was it. He was about to deliver the repercussions of shooting at him in the basement. What would he do, she wondered? Beat her? Shoot her with rock salt? Break her fingers? Snap her neck?

"Hey! Are you hearing me?" he asked, her ears still ringing from the blast.

"What?"

"I'm trying to talk to you," he explained. "Will you get out of the car?"

She climbed out.

"You're gonna need an alias, for both of you. And you might want to come up with a cover story."

"Like what? What the hell would explain all this?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

Sam walked to his car, opening the trunk and dropping both shotguns and the demon blade inside.

"You're not coming with?" she asked.

"No, the job's done," he made his way back to the Impala, opening the weapons cache. "You got what you wanted. Dean's alive and the demon's gone…for now," he took a pistol, various types of ammunition, some rope and a few other trinkets Amber didn't recognize.

She didn't want him to leave, soulless or not. She didn't know what to do about Dean's current situation.

"Sam…"

He slammed the trunk and handed her the keys. "I'll call ya next time I'm in town."

"There won't be a next time. Not if you're still like this."

A condescending sneer stretched across his face as he snickered. "I'll see ya later, Amber."

He drove off.

Amber rushed back inside the house to the bathroom where she dampened a washcloth with warm water. She pulled an old blanket from the linen closet and took a bottle of water from the fridge.

Back in the car, she tucked the blanket around Dean and wiped the dried blood from his face with the warm cloth.

"Dean, please wake up," her eyes filled with tears.


	10. Cup of Coffee

**Chapter 10**

**Cup of Coffee**

"Dean," her familiar voice called from faraway. "Dean, please wake up." Something warm and wet smoothed over the left side of his face.

"Come on. Open your eyes." She seemed close now.

He blinked a few times, attempting to bring her into focus as she hovered next to him.

"Dean, can you hear me?" Her face became clear. Stunning pale blue eyes, glistened with tears as they surveyed him.

"Amber," he shifted in his seat and pain suddenly surged through his body.

"Take it easy, you're hurt pretty bad," she said.

"No shit," he grunted. "I feel like I was thrown down a flight of stairs."

"I'm taking you to the hospital," she said.

"Where's Sam?"

"He left."

She started the car and backed out of the driveway.

"Just drop me off a block from the hospital," Dean said. "I'll walk the rest of the way. Make up some story. Hold on to Baby until I'm out."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Amber, I appreciate the sentiment, but you've dealt with enough being mixed up with us."

"And I'm gonna deal with a little more. I'm not dropping you off. I doubt you can even walk on your own right now, anyway."

"I can walk just fine," he winced as he pushed himself up. A hot festering ache burned deep in his thigh. "Ah! Okay, maybe I might need a little help," he admitted. "But we need to get our stories straight…I'm Dean Petty, you're Amber Nicks. We're…cousins."

"Okay," Amber said.

"We skidded off the road and popped a tire. A truck pulled up…we'll say it was a Ford F-150…green, maybe blue, too dark to be sure…two white guys…they tried to rob us…I fought one off, the other shot me with rock salt."

Amber snapped her face towards him. "And what did I do the whole time, stand there and scream?"

"You're hurt too…we'll say the rock salt guy attacked you."

"That could explain the marks on my neck…"

Dean turned his attention to the passing landscape out his window. "Yeah…" The memory of watching Amber being strangled by his own hands haunted him. Her eyes filled with terror, face puffy and red, the sounds that came from her throat. He closed his eyes, trying to push the images out of his mind.

"But is this shitty story really gonna work? I mean, won't they find out we gave them a false lead?" She asked.

"It was dark, we couldn't make them out that well…besides, two redneck assholes; around here that could be anybody. It's only if anyone asks. Don't mention anything otherwise."

"Trust me," he continued. "Sam and I do this all the time. It's probably better if you take me to a hospital in the next town over."

* * *

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness until the screeching of the passenger side door stirred his attention.

"We're here," Amber offered her hand.

His body protested as he climbed out of the car. "Jeez, there is no part of me that doesn't hurt."

"Come on," she draped his arm over her shoulder.

Dean leaned into her, impressed she was able to support his six-one frame. "You're sturdier than you look."

"Uh, thanks?"

"That's a compliment," Dean groaned as he limped along.

They stumbled in through the emergency doors. Staff and patients were bustling everywhere. The loud murmur of hurried voices echoed around the corridor.

"This place is hoppin'," Dean observed.

They hobbled to the counter.

"Were you involved in the shooting?" The nurse asked.

"What? No, we were—"

"Here," she shoved a clipboard at Amber. "Fill this out and have a seat. It might be a while, but we'll get him in a room as soon as possible."

"This is gonna be a long morning," Amber said.

* * *

Dean woke to find himself in a hospital room. An IV stuck in his arm attached to a half empty bag dripping clear liquid into his vein. He turned his head to see Amber asleep next to him in what looked to be the most uncomfortable chair in the building.

"Amber," he said.

She jerked awake. "Dean," her warm hand slipped into his.

"I gotta say, it's nice to keep waking up to a pretty face," he said. "How long have I been out?"

"A couple hours." Sunlight was shining through the blinds.

"Did anybody question you?"

"Two cops asked me a few questions," she explained, "but honestly, they seemed to want to wrap things up as soon as they found out we weren't involved with that shooting drama."

"I told you it would work," he smirked.

Looking her over, Dean spotted a burst blood vessel in the corner of her right eye that he hadn't noticed before. His gaze wandered to the dark marks around her neck.

"I'm sorry…for what I did to you…" His eyes dropped to where her hand held his. Pale green and purple bruising colored her wrist. "…for what Sam did to you."

"Dean, you saved my life. If you hadn't pulled through when you did, I'd be dead on my living room floor right now. And as far as what Sam did, that's not on you."

He gave her hand a squeeze.

"How are you feeling?" she asked

"Like I've been stabbed, shot, and beaten."

They both chuckled.

"I'm gonna be okay," he assured her. "And I'm gonna find Sam and I'm gonna get his soul back."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm gonna find a way."

Amber pressed her soft lips against his forehead. He slid his arms around her slim waist, hugging her tight.

"Thank you," he said.

"Well, I kind of owed you one."

* * *

"She's gonna be happy to see the old Sam again," Dean said as Sam chewed at his thumbnail.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam worried. "What I did was pretty unforgivable."

"I tried to kill her and she forgave me."

"That's different. You weren't you."

"Neither were you."

"Yes, I was. I wasn't possessed. I knew exactly what I was doing, Dean. I knew I was hurting her. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I just didn't care."

"You didn't have a soul, Sammy. Technically, it wasn't all you."

Apologizing to Amber, talking about it, would make them both have to relive it all over again. He would understand if she couldn't forgive him. He couldn't even forgive himself.

They walked into The 24-7 Diner and stopped at the hostess stand.

"Just the two of you?" The young woman asked.

"Yes, but we'd like to request to be seated in Amber Hollister's section, if we can," Sam said.

"Oh, Amber's not a server here anymore."

"But we just talked to her a couple days ago; she said she'd be working tonight," Dean chimed in.

"She is working. She's the daytime manager. I'll let her know you're here," she walked off towards the back of the diner.

"She could have seated us first," Dean mumbled.

Sam watched Amber meander around the seated patrons. Honey blonde streaks highlighted her long hair, with a few thoughtfully placed tendrils spiraling here and there. Her smile lit up her face when she saw him. He'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was.

"It's so good to see you, Sam," Amber said as she swathed her arms around him in a warm embrace. "The real you."

"It's good to see you, too," he said.

She moved to Dean, hugging him tight. "You did it."

"Hey, I'm a man of my word," Dean said.

"I never doubted you," she replied. "How'd you do it?"

"I kinda had to walk in Death's shoes for a day," Dean said.

Amber stood in puzzling silence.

"It's kind of a long story," Sam said.

"Yeah, sounds like it…Let's get you seated. You guys gotta be hungry."

"Starving," Dean said.

Amber collected a couple menus and sat them in a booth.

"Nathan will take care of you guys; I'll be back in a few."

Dean browsed the menu. "Double bacon cheese burger or the chicken fried steak?"

"We had fast food for lunch. You might wanna give your arteries a break," Sam suggested.

"I like to live dangerously. Ooh, they have pie!"

A tall plump young man with long dark hair pulled into a ponytail approached the table.

"Hello, I'm Nathan, I'll be your server," he said. "You guys ready to order."

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied. "I'll have the grilled chicken sandwich but can I substitute the fries for a side salad?"

"Yes, of course. And to drink?"

"Water's fine."

Dean chuckled. "He's watching is figure."

Sam glowered.

Nathan waited patiently for Dean to give his order.

"Okay," Dean said in defeat, "I guess I'll have the chicken fried steak and a coke. Oh, and uh, a piece of blueberry pie."

Nathan gathered the menus and left to put in the order.

"Ya know, Dean, you're gonna die of a heart attack before you're forty if you don't start taking better care of yourself," Sam lectured.

Dean shrugged. "We'll probably both be dead by then anyways…permanently. I mean, how many times can we keep coming back?"

Halfway through their meals, Amber finally returned.

"Oh, the chicken fried steak!" She said. "You're lucky you ordered that with Maurice on shift. He makes the best. Isn't it to die for?"

Dean nodded. "It really is," he said with a mouthful, turning his eyes to Sam.

"So," Sam said. "Daytime manager?"

"Yeah, I'm really moving up in the world," she said. "I've got a reliable car now _and _I just moved into a townhouse closer to work last month."

"That's great!" Sam paused. "Uh, how's Troy?"

"He's doing good. I hear he's planning to move in with his girlfriend."

"Oh…I'm sorry," Sam stammered, "I…assumed—"

"No, it's okay. I came clean about us," she gestured between Sam and herself, "and then he broke it off. It's what I expected, so…"

He cleared his throat, tucking his hair behind his ear. "What did you tell him?"

"I didn't give him the gory details, if that's what you mean."

"Ya know, maybe I should take this to go," Dean interrupted. "Let you two talk alone."

"No, no, Dean. Stay. You guys here overnight or are you just making a pit stop?"

"We're getting a motel room, the usual place," Sam said.

"Well, my shift ends in a couple hours if you want to get together." Amber smiled, blue eyes sparkling. "You can check out my new place."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Sam wondered if apologizing was even necessary. Maybe they could pick up where they left off, before that horrible night.

"Okay. I'll text you when I get home," she said. "You guys enjoy."

Sam's eyes trailed over her as she walked away. Knowing every swell and curve that was hidden under her uniform.

A quick jab to his arm interrupted his thoughts.

"Whatrya doin'?" Dean scolded.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"You really don't see what's going on here?"

Sam furrowed his brow, rubbing the ache in his arm.

"Ya know, you can be really thick-headed for someone who's supposed to be so damn smart," Dean spat.

"Excuse me?"

"Every time you hit her up for a booty call; which is every time we drive through this town, I might add; she drops _everything _for you, including a chance at a stable relationship."

"Are you saying I don't care about her? Because I do, Dean. She means more to me than just a 'booty-call'."

"I didn't say you didn't care about her, Sam. But you gotta stop dragging that girl's heart around."

Sam dropped his gaze to his plate. The truth of Dean's words cut deep. He had always tried to be ethical, to do the right thing. But he'd made his share of bad choices for all the wrong reasons. With Amber, it just become a routine they fell into. He never meant to string her along. She deserved better than random one-night stands. She deserved better than him.

"Wow," Sam huffed. "You're right, Dean."

"Why do you sound so surprised? I'm right about a lot of things," he said as he stuffed a fork full of blueberry pie in his mouth.

* * *

Amber kicked off her shoes and tossed her sweater over the back of the couch. She plopped down, bouncing softly against the plushy cushions. Fishing her phone from her purse, she scrolled through her contacts and tapped Sam's name. Her thumb hesitated over the text window.

Was this what she wanted? She had decided before that unfortunate night, that she needed to come clean about her feelings, even though she knew in her heart they were unrequited. But she wasn't ready to tell him. She just wanted things to be like they were before.

She took a deep breath and typed. {Hey, I'm home. You're welcome to come by, if you want.}

Amber watched her phone, waiting for his response. It didn't come.

She ambled up the stairs to her bedroom and changed out of her work uniform, putting on a pair of old jeans and an eggplant purple tank top. The last of the curls fell out of her naturally straight locks as she brushed through her hair.

Her phone buzzed on her counter.

{Text me your address.}

Twenty minutes later, Sam was at her door.

"This place is great," he said as he roamed around the townhome. It had a smaller kitchen than her apartment did, but more spacious living room and dining room. Upstairs were two bedrooms; the master with a bathroom and a smaller bedroom and a full bath off the hallway.

"Yeah, and the best part is, no roommate. Not that Tina wasn't a great roommate, I just prefer to live alone."

"You're lucky to have a place to actuallycall home," Sam said. "The Impala is about the closest thing we've ever had to a home."

"You make it sound like you guys live in the car."

"We do a lot of the time."

"You guys sleep in the car?"

"When hotels aren't available or affordable…those bench seats can be quite comfortable."

All the time they had spent together, Sam had never talked about spending nights in the car. There was a lot she still didn't know about his life, about him.

"You want something to drink?" Amber offered.

"Coffee would be great."

_Coffee? _The only time they ever drank coffee together was the morning after.

"Okay."

Sam followed her to the kitchen.

"Amber, I'm sorry about what happened…that night."

"I know you are," she said as she scooped coffee grounds into the basket.

"I hate to even think about it."

She filled the carafe with water. "I know, me too. I wish I could just erase it from my memory."

"I'd understand if you didn't trust me anymore."

"I still trust you, Sam," she emptied the carafe into the reservoir and flipped on the machine.

"Thanks, but I'm not sure I deserve it."

"Yes, you do. You're a good man. You just had a bad thing happen to you."

She stood on her tip toes and kissed his lips. Her hands slid up to rest against his chest as the kiss deepened, falling into their old routine.

Sam pulled back, taking her hands in his.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"I think we should talk about some things."

"Okay." The coffee machine beeped. "Oh, the coffee's ready."

She poured two mugs full of the dark bitter liquid, adding milk to both.

She handed one to Sam and extended her arm towards the dinette table, inviting him to sit.

Amber settled into one of the chairs, Sam sat across from her. They sipped their coffee; the tension growing dense between them.

"Good coffee," he said.

"Thanks, it's Sumatra. Just opened it this morning."

"Dean would love it."

_If you're going to break my heart, then quit stalling and just get it over with, _she thought. "What's on your mind, Sam?"

"I think, it's probably best if we…move on."

"Move on? From what?" Amber sat her mug down a little harder than she meant to. "We've never established what our relationship even is. We just do…this." She waved her hand between them.

"That's the thing, Amber. This is all we're ever gonna be."

"Why?"

"You know why—"

"No, don't give me that bullshit 'superhero' excuse. I know who you are, what you do. I've been right smack in the middle of it!" Her voice rose in volume.

"Yeah, and it almost got you killed!" His tone matched hers.

"But I wasn't. We could make this work, Sam," she reasoned.

"Amber, I care about you, a lot…" he trailed off. His fingers drummed on the side of the mug.

"But you're not in love with me," she finished for him.

Sam's expression turned somber. "No."

The pang of his confession spread through her chest as if he'd sunk a dagger straight through her heart. A stifling lump burned in her throat, robbing her of speech. She tore her eyes away from him. Looking at his face only hurt more. Tears welled in her eyes, obscuring her vision. She fought to hold them back, but one blink sent them falling down her cheeks.

This wasn't how she wanted things to go. When this inevitable day came, she had intended to be strong, resilient. Instead, her emotions betrayed her, leaving her weak and crumbling into a million pieces.

"Amber, this is hard for me, too."

She gave a sarcastic laugh as she wiped the tears from her face.

"I don't like hurting you like this," he said.

Amber knew he spoke true. She remembered the look on Troy's face the day she told him what she'd done. The guilt and remorse plagued her for weeks.

She stood up and tugged a tissue from the box on the book shelf.

"I should probably go," Sam said.

"Stay," she choked out.

"Amber—"

"I want you to stay. Tonight."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I don't want the last time we were together to be how we leave things," her voice trembled from suppressing her tears. "I don't want _this _to be how we leave things, either."

"Neither do I, but don't you think it'll just make things harder?"

"No. I think it'll make things harder if you just leave."

His hazel eyes bore into hers as he stepped closer. Taking her face in his hands, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her swollen lips.

Amber wrapped her hands around his wrists and silently lead him up the stairs and through the doorway to her room.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asked.

"Yes. I'm sure. Just…don't be here when I wake up."

"You know I hate leaving without saying goodbye."

"This is saying goodbye."

She lifted her shirt off over her head. Sam did the same. Their eyes held each other's gaze as they undressed one garment at a time.

Amber kissed him slow and wistful, relishing the taste of his lips. Melting into him as his hands roamed her skin, not letting an inch of her go untouched. She basked in the warmth of his embrace as his heart pounded against her chest. Savoring the lingering scent of shaving cream on his face. She could have him every night and it wouldn't be enough, but he wasn't hers to have.

No words were spoken between them as they fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs. Searching for solace, she offered him every piece of her shattered heart, letting him consume every shard until there was nothing left.

* * *

When Amber woke, Sam was gone, just as she had asked. She tied her robe around herself and pattered down the stairs. The smell of fresh brewed coffee beckoned her to the kitchen. Her heart fluttered, wondering if he had broken the agreement.

"Sam?"

She turned the corner to the kitchen. He wasn't there.

A fresh pot of coffee had been made and a mug sat in the draining board, along with the two from the night before, still wet from having been washed. She'd just missed him.

With a heavy sigh, she reached for the cabinet to grab a mug. Stuck to the cabinet door was a powder blue sticky note.

Scrolled across it in Sam's messy handwriting; _I owe you a cup of coffee._

~THE END~


End file.
